


Farewells May Come One Day

by UpsideDownLemur



Series: Unitedverse [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American History, American Revolution, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Revolutionary War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-02-19 18:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2398373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UpsideDownLemur/pseuds/UpsideDownLemur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revolutionary War Story. After the Seven Years' War, England is left weak and poor. The taxes he's imposing are taking their toll on America and the colonists, who aren't so sure they can put up with it any longer. As England and America drift further apart, Alfred is forced to consider an idea that he has never imagined--Independence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Borrowing

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been thinking about writing a Revolutionary War Hetalia fic for a while and I've decided to give it a try. Please tell me what you think! Also note that I picture revolutionary Alfred/America to be at the physical and mental state of a 13-15 year old.

_November 1765_

It was on that day that it had happened. The last rays of the sun had been blasting over the horizon, bathing the town in shimmering golds and oranges. The village had begun to grow quiet as the last of business was taken care of and the families prepared to settle down for supper together.

Even as the shops and roads began to clear, a mess of blonde hair skipped along the dirt road with round, bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement, cheeks pink, and a grin large and crooked.

_England's coming._

"Good evening, Alfred! What cheer?"

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Miller! It's a red-letter day!"

_England's coming._

"Is that so? Now why's that?"

Alfred slowed to a stop, his eyes sparkling. "Today my best friend is coming to see me. I have to hurry! Please tell Cooper I hope his leg gets better!"

_England's coming._

He began to run again.

"I'll pass it along. Take care of yourself, son!"

Alfred gave a wave and then pushed forward with all his might, down the winding path, past the barber shop and the printing office, down to the harbor where a well-dressed man with blonde hair and green eyes stood waiting.

_England's here!_

"England!" He practically crashed into the man, hugging him tight around the waist. "I missed you!" He looked up at Arthur's face, his smile falling. The man's face was riddled with bandages and bruises, as was the rest of his body, but he hadn't noticed that quite yet. "What… What happened to you?"

"Ah Alfred, it's nothing. Just a spot of trouble with France is all. There is, however, something I must ask of you." Arthur said rather sheepishly, glancing away slightly. "I, uh… I need a bit of money if it wouldn't be too troubling."

Alfred's smile returned shining as bright as ever. "That's no problem!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Really? Heavens! I was worried you would be angry! Even so, I shouldn't be asking you for this in the first place." He muttered the last part, mostly to himself.

"Of course not! How much do you need?" Alfred asked, searching his pockets for spare change.

Arthur chuckled, only half-amused. "I should have known it wouldn't be this easy. Alfred, I'm afraid… I'm afraid I'll need a little more than you can fit in your pocket, lad."

Alfred stared at him uncomprehendingly.

Shame painted Arthur's face. "I'll need a little from every household."

He watched Alfred's eyebrows suddenly knit together in confusion as the boy spoke. "Well… Alright. But just this one time, okay?"

"Uh… Yes. Yes, o-of course." Arthur said, avoiding eye contact.

That was how it all began.

Soon after that day, Arthur kept coming back for more money with always the same words of "Just one more time, I promise!" Bullocks, that was. But Alfred always just slumped his shoulders and went to talk to his fellow countrymen with a long sigh. They were angry from the very start, but as long as it was Alfred asking they didn't have the heart to refuse. That is, until the tax increased to the point that they felt they had to start protesting publicly--and loudly. Alfred couldn't even walk through the marketplace without passing several mob protests.

It was a terrible feeling, really. He was torn between wanting to join them and wanting to defend England. Of course he hated the tax, but he knew that without it Arthur would continue to look injured and torn up from the Seven Years' War. He couldn't bear seeing the man in pain. Not to mention, England came to visit more often because of the new taxes, and although Alfred couldn't deny how unbelievably selfish it was for him to think in such a way, he couldn't ignore the delight that poured from his heart at the mere sight of the green-eyed man.

On the other hand, all the rules and payments were becoming too much. Many of his neighbors were struggling to even put food on the table.

Probably the worst part about all this was that Alfred was stuck in the thick of it. If the taxes weren't paid, he was the one receiving the lecture about disciplining his people. If he didn't join the boycotts then he was a traitor, which by all logic actually made no sense.

"Alfred!"

The boy sighed and came to a halt, kicking a pebble absently before glancing up. Immediately, the angry stares of at least twenty people burned through him. He swallowed anxiously.

"Are you on your way to meet ol' England?" The voice was like two stones rubbing against each other.

Alfred winced. He began in a small voice, "Well, actually I-"

"Tell him to get off his easy chair and stop this madness! My children need to eat and I'm at the end of my tether! You hear me?"

"Y-Yes, sir." He practically squeaked the reply. And not even a second after it left his mouth did he turn tail and run off as fast as his legs could carry him. He needed to escape all of this right now. His usually brightly lit blue eyes became dim and blurred as tears welled up in them.

Eventually he came to a stop in front of a small shop and pressed his hand against the door, panting a little. Quickly, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve before entering the building. His arrival was signaled by the chime of the small bell above the door. The scent of paper and ink filled the room and Alfred took a deep whiff, suddenly feeling at home. The blonde glanced around, hearing the patter of footsteps on wood and followed the sound to its source.

"Ah, young Mr. Jones!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "What cheer?" was a colonial way of saying "How are you?" or "What's up?"
> 
> \- A red letter day is a special day - saint's days and holidays were printed in red as opposed to the normal black in almanacs and diaries
> 
> \- An easy chair is a cushioned chair that concealed a chamber pot


	2. Dependency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the feedback so far! I've been researching extensively to make this story as historically accurate as possible. This chapter hints at the Declaratory Act, which is passed only months after the current time of November 1765.

_"Ah, young Mr. Jones!"_

Alfred smiled at the stout man standing before him. "Hello, Mr. Franklin."

"Benjamin, please."

"Right. Sorry. Do you need any help with those books?" Alfred asked, pointing to the stack in the elderly man's arms.

"It would be much appreciated."

Alfred took half of the load, following Franklin as he walked to the bookshelf at the far wall and began organizing the books onto the shelves. "So how is business lately?"

"Ah, well, it exists. That is all that matters. How do you fare?" The man gazed down at his junior from over the rims of his glasses.

Alfred's shoulders sagged at the question. He set the last book in his arms in its place and then turned around, leaning his back against the shelves and crossing his arms. "I don't know what to do anymore, Benjamin. I'm tired of being everyone's whipping boy. Everybody's always mad at me. All the protestors expect me to join them and if I don't, they think I'm against them. And England will be upset with me if I don't tell them to calm down. I can't imagine what he would think if I joined them!" 

"I am sorry, lad. I cannot say I know the feeling."

Alfred glanced up. "What do you think of all this, Mr. Franklin? Are the taxes too much? Do you think the soldiers shouldn't be allowed to stay in our homes?" [1]

Franklin sighed, pulling a chair over and sitting down. "My opinion aside, what do you think, Alfred? Do you think it is fair? Do you think the people are happy?"

Alfred's back straightened. "'Happy'? Well... no. Mister and Misses Miller and Cooper don't seem happy having to feed and keep the soldiers in their house. They say they don't have enough food as it is. Cooper doesn't even have his own room anymore."

"Do you think it is fair for them to feel that way?"

He blinked. "Of course not!"

"In that case, why not talk to England about it when you see him? Tell him what you think. Perhaps he will listen," Franklin said, leaning back in his chair.

Alfred perked up, pushing off the bookshelf. "That is a brilliant idea, Benjamin! I'll go see him now!" He began running towards the door.

Franklin smiled warmly and gave a wave. "Good luck, lad!"

"Goodbye!" Alfred called, racing out the door.

\-----

His stomach felt sick. 

The door of England's study loomed over him. He lifted his fist hesitantly.

_I can do this._

"England! May I come in?" he asked, knocking three times on the oak wood.

A few seconds passed until he heard a muffled "come in!' from the opposite side of the door. Slowly, Alfred opened the door just enough to fit through and walked in, shutting it behind him. He watched Arthur--the man's eyebrows were furrowed as his quill spread ink across parchment in beautiful cursive strokes. The area beneath his eyes was dark and puffy and the green of his eyes was dull from a lack of sleep. Alfred winced at the sight and took a step forward.

Arthur's head shot up.

Lights of happiness and warmth immediately began to dance in his suddenly bright emerald eyes. "Alfred!" He rose from his chair and walked over to the boy, leaning down and ruffling his hair affectionately. "How are you? Did you enjoy your morning?" he asked with a smile.

Alfred smiled back, his anxiety put to ease. "Yes, I did."

"Good, good. Shall I make you lunch then? We can have fresh tea and biscuits, hm?" 

Alfred fiddled with his fingers. "Actually... Could I talk to you about something?"

"How about you tell me all about it while we eat?" Arthur said, standing up and gently directing Alfred towards the door with his hand. 

Alfred stopped and turned back around, rubbing his shoes against each other as he spoke. "Umm... I would really prefer that we talk first..." He glanced up at Arthur, his heart lurching uncomfortably when the man's smile pressed into a line of mild irritation. 

"Alright." Arthur gestured towards the stool in front of his desk. "What would you like to talk about?"

Alfred sat down, folding his hands in his lap. "Well... You see..." He looked up. "The townspeople aren't very happy with the new laws and-"

"And?" The irritation on Arthur's face began to grow. Alfred looked down again.

"I was wondering if you could maybe ask your boss to reconsider. Perhaps he could lessen the tax..."

He waited for a reply, staring at his feet. At the sound of chuckling, he quickly returned his gaze to Arthur's face, his eyebrows twisting in confusion at the unexpected reaction. "What did I say...?" he began, but was abruptly cut off.

"Oh Alfred, you are still so naive, aren't you? Their opinion doesn't matter."

Alfred's eyebrows furrowed further. "What?"

"The colonists are all just subjects of his Majesty, King George III. Their personal feelings about matters are invalid because they are all dependent upon Britain and shall continue to be for the rest of their lives. No matter what they feel, they must follow the rules. Do you understand?"

Alfred stood up, his fists shaking. "That's not fair! Why should the Parliament and the king be allowed to create rules that make us miserable?!"

The amusement in Arthur's eyes died. " _'Us'_? Alfred, are you also questioning the imperial crown?"

His eyes widened. "I..." Alfred searched for words. "If this is what the imperial crown believes in, then yes," he said firmly.

Arthur's eyes flew wide with anger. "ALFRED!"

The boy's confidence withered.

"I have heard enough out of you! You will eat and then you will study with me until supper, and I will pretend that we _never_ had this conversation. Do you hear me?!"

Alfred's entire body shook, his face turning red with humiliation and the need to cry. Arthur's face softened ever so slightly. Perhaps he had raised his voice more than was necessary. He reached out a hand. "Alfred-"

" _NO!_ " The word came out like a blast and Alfred instantly ran out of the room, not even turning back as Arthur angrily shouted his name. Tears flowed from the far corners of his eyes, which he squeezed shut as he emerged from the house and rushed down the dirt road. He shoved past people, unable to register anything but the desperate need to get away from everything around him.

_Why doesn't England care about me?_

The neighing of a horse abruptly cut into his thoughts. He opened his eyes to see the animal towering over him, it's forelegs moving back and forth in a panic. The blonde stumbled over to the side, frightened, and twisted his leg awkwardly. With a thud, he landed on his side, the rocks and pebbles unkind against his skin. 

"Oww..." 

Once the pain faded, he rolled onto his back and just laid there, arms and legs spread, eyes closed. The wind kissed his face and he became aware of the small rips and tears in his sleeves and pants. 

_England would spit his tea out if he saw me come home like this._

The thought made him cringe. His hair was a mess, his face was dirty, the perfect creasing of his clothes was ruined.

_But what does it matter anyway? He's already furious._

Alfred opened his eyes halfway, staring up at the sky. It was stained with an orange that reminded him of the fire from the wood stove at home. Arthur always lit it whenever he made soup or if the air was just too cold. Then Alfred would sit in Arthur's lap on the rocking chair and watch the flames. They always cast a beautiful light onto the wood floor. Whenever Arthur went back to Britain, Alfred would light the fire himself and sit in the rocking chair, but it was never comforting when he was alone.

He covered his eyes with his arms.

_I want to go home._

The words echoed in his head. And yet, he wasn't ready to go back. He knew exactly what would happen when he went back. Arthur would give him another talk about controlling his people and being a good boy. Then he would pretend nothing happened and go back to doing his work and everything would go on as usual. He hated that.

Finally summoning a little energy, Alfred rose to his feet and dusted himself off. He stared up at the sky once more. It was a much deeper shade of orange than the last time he had checked. There was no way he could be back home before nightfall. With a sigh, Alfred began walking up the road. The sun had almost set when he realized he was in the middle of a field. His stomach growled, a painful reminder that he had skipped a meal and that he probably wouldn't be eating anything for still a while longer. Tired and hungry, he sat down and pulled his knees close to his chest.

_I don't want to be alone in the dark. I wish England was here._

"Young man, what are you doing here?" a voice asked urgently.

Alfred looked up. A woman was looking down at him. Her skin was far darker than his.

"I'm sorry. Am I not supposed to be here?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

Just as the woman opened her mouth to respond, another woman's voice came from behind her.

"Betsy, you may go inside."

Betsy turned. "Ah, thank you ma'am. I'll be in in a moment."

"Is there something the matter?"

"Oh no, it's just-"

The second woman moved past Betsy and stopped at the sight of Alfred. Her eyes began to sparkle. "Oh, what a cute young man! I must show George! What's your name?"

Alfred answered hesitantly. "Alfred F. Jones."

"Betsy, bring him inside and help him clean up," the woman said, walking away with a large smile.

"Yes, ma'am." Betsy took Alfred's hand and began to lead him out of the field.

"Who was that?" Alfred asked, bewildered.

"That was Lady Washington."

\-----

Alfred entered the dining room clean and clad in a fresh pair of clothes. 

"You can sit to the left of the first chair, if you like," Betsy said, giving him a smile. 

He nodded and followed her to where she pulled out the seat for him. As he waited, Alfred stared up at her uncertainly.

"Miss Betsy, why am I here?" he asked.

"Lady Washington loves children. I am certain she would not want you to stay outside by yourself all night."

"Oh," he replied simply. He glanced to the side. "Miss Betsy?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't you sit down?"

Her eyes widened, but then she gave him a soft look. "I cannot. I am a slave."

"What do you mean?" 

She let out a long breath. "I am not really sure myself. I live to serve and work, I do not have the same rights as other people, I do not receive payment. I have no freedom to do what I wish."

Alfred's eyebrows angled downward sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

"It is alright. I am lucky. The Washington family treats me very well."

Alfred looked down, processing this. "Well Miss Betsy, I hope you find your freedom someday."

She smiled. "Thank you."

At the sound of footsteps, they both looked up to see the Washingtons walking in, Martha urging her husband on. When she saw Alfred, her eyes twinkled as they had before. "Oh look at you, all nice and clean! Look George!"

"Martha, honestly..." Washington said exasperatedly, turning from his wife to look at the boy sitting at the table. Recognition immediately flared in his mind. "You are England's boy."

Alfred stared at him, confused. He squinted. "Do I know you, sir?"

Washington appeared taken aback for a moment, but he sighed and handed his coat to Betsy, who promptly took it out of the room. "I suppose you wouldn't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- _"How do you fare?"_ was another colonial greeting akin to "How are you?"  
>  \- A whipping boy was someone who took the punishment for another person's wrong-doing  
> \- [1] Referring to the Quartering Act  
> \- Martha Washington was commonly called "Lady Washington"  
> \- Betsy was actually a name of a real slave belonging to the Washington family


	3. Love is Elastic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of update last week! Things were really busy. Hopefully this was worth the wait! I'll try to update again in the next few days. It may or may not happen. As always, thank you for all the feedback and encouragement!

_"I suppose you wouldn't."_

Alfred tilted his head.

"I fought for England in his and France's little war some years back. England mentioned you a bit and I happened to see you a few times," Washington said.

"Oh." Alfred fiddled with his fingers again, awkward and unsure what to do.

Washington scanned the boy over with his eyes, his face neutral, until he finally pulled out the chair at the front of the table and sat down.

"In any case, I suppose you may stay here tonight since it is late. Come, let us eat."

Betsy and another slave came out carrying a tray of fish muddle, a bowl of various nuts, a large plate of fruits, and a bottle of Madeira wine.

"Take whatever you like, laddie." Martha said, giving Alfred a kind smile.

Alfred glanced at each person in the room, his blue eyes twinkling like stars.

"Thank you!" he said, a wide grin on his face. The delight he radiated practically lit up the entire room as he picked up his fork and knife and carefully used them to load his plate with food, his worries about England forgotten.

Alfred loved food. Anyone who knew him knew that. Arthur always had to make an entire batch of scones just to feed him at breakfast. And supper? That was a completely different story. Even with everything he ate then, Alfred hardly ever stayed full throughout the night.

As he cut into his fish, he glanced over at Washington, noticing the abundance of cherries in his plate. Then he noticed his face. The man's eyes were shining, his cheeks rosy and clearly defined as he plucked another cherry from its stem and began chewing it. Alfred smiled.

"You sure like cherries, sir."

Washington glanced at him from the edges of his eyes, the corners of his lips upturning in the faintest of smiles. "Yes. I've had a liking for them since I was a boy."

"George has many favorites," Martha said. "Cherries --especially cherry pie-- hazelnuts, string beans and almonds, his Madeira wine, and oh my, the fish! I cook fish for him some way or another just about every day!"

Washington's face tinted a slight shade of red. He grunted uncomfortably. "Martha..."

"Oh, don't be so embarrassed, George!"

Alfred smiled at the little exchange going on between them and continued eating. As they talked, he gazed around the room, taking in all of its decor and furniture.

There were two large windows on the wall to the right of him, covered in beautifully bright red drapes that took up at least two-thirds of the wall. Between the two windows was a large portrait, framed in maroon painted wood and embellished with a curved gold outline. Beneath the portrait sat a small table that was just large enough to hold a candle and maybe a couple teacups.

His eyes wandered to the wall farthest from him, studying the mantlepiece above the hearth. The wood was carved so delicately, so intricately, with too many patterns layered atop one another for his eyes to register all at once. On the mantlepiece sat two candles, and between them, a set of painted vases, all varying in shape. Behind him was a long table covered in blue and white china dishes.

As he realized how many portraits were hung around and how delicate everything looked, a thought occurred to him.

"Mr. and Mrs. Washington?" he asked, bringing his attention back to them. They looked up.

"Yes?"

"I don't mean any offense when I ask this, but why do you eat so simply when everything else you own is so fancy?"

George and Martha exchanged a look and then began chuckling.

For the second time that day, Alfred wondered why adults always found his questions to be so funny.

"My manner of living is plain." Washington answered simply.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that, sir?" His eyes darted to the wall, a gesture for his host to follow, then rested upon Washington's face once more. "Have you seen your house, sir?" he deadpanned.

Martha giggled, and Washington gave him a lopsided smile. Alfred closed one eye as the man ruffled his hair gently.

"We're just not very particular about our diets," Martha said, adding after a moment of thought, "-except George and his excessive fondness for fish."

"Enough about the fish, Martha!" Washington defended, heat rising to his cheeks and ears. "And it is not excessive..." he muttered.

"Whatever you say, dear." His wife giggled.

Betsy came in and cleared the plates just as Alfred swallowed his last forkful of food.

"Thank you," he nodded at Betsy.

She beamed at him, taking his cutlery and dishes and leaving the room with a little curtsy.

Washington cleared his throat and Alfred turned his attention to him, their eyes meeting.

"So then... Alfred, was it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Would you mind telling me what you were doing in my fields?" Washington's voice held no ill feelings--only curiosity.

"Well I-" Alfred paused, his stomach suddenly twisting uncomfortably as he remembered the earlier events of the day.

_"The colonists are all just subjects of his Majesty, King George III. Their personal feelings about matters are invalid because they are all dependent upon Britain and shall continue to be for the rest of their lives."_

His face contorted with disconcertment, and his eyes swam with anger, overwhelming frustration, and a hint of confusion. His throat tightened.

Martha and George shared a glance.

_"Oh Alfred, you are still so naive, aren't you?"_

Alfred gritted his teeth. He wasn't naive. Arthur wasn't even around half of the time. He had no right to say that.

_He's wrong, he's wrong, he's-_

Unexpected warmth shook Alfred from his thoughts. His eyes darted up to see Martha's hand on his arm, her eyes sympathetic despite not knowing the situation. Alfred's shoulders relaxed, but his mind did not.

"Mr. and Mrs. Washington? What do you think of the tax?"

Washington crossed his arms. "It is utterly ridiculous," he replied simply. Martha gave a silent, almost cautious nod.

"I see..." Alfred lowered his head, his hair shadowing his face. "Is it wrong that I feel conflicted about it? I know everyone is suffering. They're unhappy and yet I..." His eyes began to sting. "I don't want to hate England. He's always taken care of me. He's..."

He couldn't find the words to complete the sentence.

"Dear, how about you go rest? It has been a long day," Martha changed the subject, beginning to lead the golden-haired boy out of the room.

Alfred rubbed his eyes, beginning to realize just how tired he was, and followed without objection. "Good evening, Mr. Washington," he murmured as he made his exit. Washington gave a small nod of acknowledgement, replying with the same words.

Martha brought Alfred to the chamber adjacent to the dining room. It was smaller than the bedroom he had in the house he shared with Arthur, but it was about as elegant. It had a high post canopy bed, a window on the right wall, a variety of window hangings, and a carpet.

"Are you sure it's alright if I stay?" Alfred asked.

"Of course, dear. This is the guest chamber anyway. It's not as if you are disrupting any order in the house. There is a fresh change of clothes on the bed. Make yourself at home and get some rest," Martha said, making her way to the doorway. She stopped and put her hand on the doorframe, giving him a long look before shutting the door.

Alfred changed his clothes and crawled into bed, pulling the canopy curtains shut around him. Although he was tired, the thought of falling asleep seemed far out.

He turned and tried to adjust the pillows and the blanket to his comfort, but ended these attempts when they proved futile. Truth be told, he couldn't remember the last time he hadn't slept in his own house. It had probably been before he met Arthur.

 _Everything always comes back to you, doesn't it?_ he thought miserably. _Maybe I overreacted. I shouldn't have run away like that._ He pulled the covers up to the point where they covered half of his cheek.

This room smelled different, felt different, looked different than the one he was used to. His heart ached at the thought of the familiar scent of the wood fire that was always crackling in the hearth at home, Arthur's soft humming as he cooked dinner, and the lavish carpets that Arthur had brought from all over Europe.

_"I want to make this house perfect for you, Alfred. Besides, you might even learn a bit of culture from studying the patterns on these. This one is from Italy, and this one..."_

Alfred closed his eyes and all there was was Arthur.

_"Let's go home together."_

_"Alfred, I have to go now, but I will be back soon. I promise."_

_"I'm sorry I was gone so long. How have you been?"_

His eyes squeezed tighter shut, and water began to escape. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the top of the canopy.

_I wonder if you ever miss me as much as I always miss you..._

 

\-----

"Ah, young man!"

Betsy looked up from cleaning a table in the little parlor.

"You don't have to call me that. Just Alfred."

"Alfred, then." She smiled.

Alfred smiled back, stepping into the room. He was immediately aware of the piano sitting in the corner.

"Do you play?" Betsy asked, noticing his interest. He nodded a little hesitantly. "Would you play something?"

Alfred pressed his lips together, unsure. "England taught me how, but..." He squeezed the knuckles of his left hand in the palm of his right and vice versa. "I'm not very good."

"I am sure it will be delightful. Please?"

He paused for a moment, nodded, and then sat down in the chair in front of the piano. His fingers brushed over the fall board, admiring the mahogany wood's smooth finish before opening it to reveal the piano's black and white keys.

With a deep breath, he let his fingers dance across them. He played a slow movement, stopped abruptly for a couple seconds, then continued playing and repeated this cycle a few times before his hands began to gain speed. A great sense of energy filled the air, but a sudden loud chord killed it and brought the song to an abrupt end.

Betsy looked at him, conflicted between feeling stunned and amused. As Alfred stood from his chair and closed the piano, he gave her a silly look with a crooked grin.

"That was very, um," Betsy searched for a word.

"It wasn't what you expected, was it?" Alfred asked knowingly. "I know. England showed me this song because it reminded him of me. _'Humorous and loud'_ is how he described it. I think he said it was from Austria."

"Joseph Haydn, if I am not mistaken," a man's voice said.

Alfred and Betsy turned to see the Washingtons standing in the doorway.

"That's right," Alfred nodded.

"You play well," Washington commented approvingly.

"Do you play an instrument, sir?"

"Hardly. I do, however, enjoy music immensely."

"Maybe I could teach you sometime," Alfred said with a cheeky grin.

Washington couldn't help but crack a small smile as well. "Perhaps."

\-----

"How do you do this all day?!"

Alfred wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, holding a basket of corn to his waist with his other hand. Heat beat down on him, making him sweat so profusely that his hair had practically turned brown from the moisture. He reached up on the edges of his feet and stretched his arm out, trying his best to grab another husk from the top of the stalk. His fingertips grazed the leaves and he could practically taste his victory. 

… Until he lost his balance and fell to the ground with a high pitched squeak. The all-too-big sunhat on his head slipped down over his eyes as if to further humiliate him.

Betsy and a few other slaves laughed at the boy's display; Especially when he began to stand up again, only to slip on the basket he had dropped and fall again, backwards this time.

"Oww..." he mumbled, rubbing his lower back as he stood up.

"The answer to your question, Alfred, is technique!"

"What do you mean, Sarah?! I used plenty of technique!" Alfred said, picking up the vegetables that had fallen out of his basket.

Sarah smiled, walked over to the husk he'd been trying to pluck, and bent the stalk down before taking it off. Alfred's eyes widened a fraction. "Oh. That's what you meant." The hairs on the back of his neck prickled with embarrassment, but he laughed it off. "So when do we get to go inside?" Alfred asked, looking at Sarah, then at Betsy, then at another slave named James. "I'm starving!"

"You can go inside any time you want. I gotta wonder why you insist on gettin' dirty out here with the rest of us," James replied.

Alfred shrugged. "You guys seemed tired so I thought I would help. I don't mind! It's fun to talk to all of you."

Betsy and Sarah smiled. "You are a darling little man," Sarah said. Alfred grinned.

"All right, everyone!" Martha Washington's call came from the end of the field. "You may go inside!"

"I hope that means it's time for dinner!" Alfred said excitedly. He grabbed his basket and ran off toward the mansion with quick, long strides.

Betsy sighed. "That boy can disappear at the drop of a hat if it has something to do with food."

"You're darn right." Sarah replied, and the two women laughed.

\-----

Before Alfred knew it, he had been staying at the Washingtons' estate for two weeks.

He hadn't meant to stay so long. In fact, he had never meant to stay at all, and while he didn't regret the time he'd spent at Mount Vernon at all, the need to see Arthur and fix things with him was becoming too great to ignore. The way they left things didn't feel right, and Alfred could never deny how much he missed Arthur when they were apart.

As he took the last bite of his rice waffle, listening to Washington finish his story, he scanned the parlor and smiled at the people he'd come to know rather well in his short time at the mansion.

"... And then Mother exclaimed 'Dead?!' and I replied, 'Yes, ma'am. Dead.'" Washington said. Both he and Martha erupted into laughter while Alfred struggled not to choke on his breakfast.

"Why would you tell her that?!" Alfred half-asked, half-shouted after swallowing his mouthful.

"It was her favorite colt. I could not lie!"

"Good God, I'm sure England would have burnt his scones if I ever told him something like that!" Alfred paused, then glanced to the side. "Well... more than usual, anyway."

Washington chuckled, and Alfred decided now would be a good time to tell him and Martha of his decision.

"Um, I have something to say," he began awkwardly.

"By all means, go ahead lad," Martha encouraged, setting down her teacup.

He stood up. "Well... I've really enjoyed staying here. You've all been very good to me, but I, uh... I think it's about time I went home.” 

The room was silent. Alfred noticed Betsy looking at him from the other side of the room, the strokes of her broom slowing down significantly.

Martha was the first to respond. "Why?" she asked, even though she knew very well why. "I mean, are you sure dearie?"

Alfred nodded. "Yes. I think I've been away for long enough. England will most likely be angry with me."

Washington gave him a look of simultaneous disappointment and admiration, then stood up as well, gesturing for Alfred to follow him outside. Martha came with them. When they emerged from the mansion, Washington guided Alfred to where he kept his horses and brought out a dark brown stallion with white legs and a pinkish-white muzzle. "It's a long way from Virginia to Massachusetts. Feel free to take him," he said, handing Alfred the horse's reigns.

Alfred looked startled as he took hold of the reigns and patted the horse's nose before turning his attention back to Washington. "But sir, how will I bring him back to you?"

"I suppose you could keep him. How else are you going to come visit? Surely you don't want to walk all the way again," Washington said nonchalantly.

Alfred blinked, then smiled as he understood the man's meaning. "Of course. How silly of me," he said.

Martha smiled as well, pulling the boy into a hug. "Come back soon."

"I will," he said, mounting his horse.

"Are you going to name the fellow?" Washington asked.

Alfred thought for a moment, then nodded and ran his fingers through the horse's mane. "I think I'll call him Davie."

"Take good care of Davie then."

Alfred nodded, and with that, he took off down the dirt road from which he had come.

Martha glanced at Washington, who was waving goodbye, and began to giggle.

He turned to look at her. "What is it?"

"You have grown fond of him."

Washington gave her a bewildered look before turning his attention elsewhere, beginning to make his way back to the mansion. "There is work to be done."

"Don't avoid the subject, George!"

\-----

The sky was pitch black when Alfred arrived home. Quietly, he dismounted his horse and tied its reigns to a wooden pole near the back of the house, holding his finger up and whispering a _'shhh'_ with the promise that he would be back to feed it later.

 _England is going to be furious,_ he thought, sighing and slumping his shoulders. _I guess I'll try to tell him I'm sorry as soon as I walk in. Then he won't have time to yell at me._ He padded to the front door with quiet footsteps and took in a deep breath before opening the door ever so slightly. "England, I-"

The words died on his tongue as he caught sight of the man. It felt like ice was trickling down his throat and making his mind and stomach go numb. Arthur's hair was a matted, greasy mess, the clothes he was wearing crumpled and wrinkled. He was sitting at the dining table with his head buried in his arms. Alfred watched that head rise slowly, as if from the dead, at the sound of his voice.

Their eyes met, and Alfred flinched, noticing how the bags under Arthur's eyes were even darker than they had been when Alfred had left, realizing how thin Arthur looked and how little he must have eaten these past couple weeks. His green eyes were misty and far away. But as recognition flooded Arthur's senses, that mist began to clear and he stood up, slowly and hesitantly.

"Alfred?" His voice cracked.

Tears spilled over Alfred's cheeks before he even knew what was happening. His legs shook as if the weight of his guilt was literally on his shoulders, crushing him. His blue eyes narrowed a little as he managed to squeak out, "England, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I..."

And then warm arms were enveloping him, bringing him as close as they could possibly be. Alfred closed his eyes, water flooding out of them and into Arthur's shirt. He raised his smaller arms and wrapped them around Arthur, beginning to realize how much he'd missed the man. His heart beat faster, aching with pain.

"Oh God, Alfred, I was so worried. I didn't know what to think when you didn't come back that night. I didn't mean to upset you so much. Oh, thank God you came back. Thank God..." Arthur's hand held the back of Alfred's head, and his own tears began to spill.

"I'm sorry..." Alfred said softly between hiccups.

He felt himself get swept off the ground, supported by strong arms, and he let those strong arms slip his shoes off and carry him away. The smell of the wood burning in the hearth filled his nose, the sound of Arthur's soft humming hushed his sobs, and he indulged in every bit of the warmth that sweet, sweet familiarity offered him.

Yes. This was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The Washingtons had guests over all the time so it's not strange that Washington would allow Alfred to stay so easily. Martha was also known to be an excellent hostess with a very warm manner, especially towards children.
> 
> \- Fish Muddle: a stew that was actually a favorite dish of George Washington’s. All of the information about him in this chapter is true, unless specified otherwise. Also, he's not the only American that loved cherry pies. Pies were very popular in colonial America.
> 
> \- Martha and George had a very loving relationship, but Martha wasn't afraid to speak her mind to him or about him. In turn, he respected her opinions and tried his best to please her.
> 
> \- Washington began to openly reject the Stamp Act and other laws in 1765
> 
> \- I wrote the descriptions of the dining room and the guest chamber while taking a virtual tour through the Mount Vernon mansion. They aren't one hundred percent accurate because renovations were made to the mansion during the Revolutionary War, but they should be accurate for the most part.
> 
> \- Washington actually didn't have a piano in his house parlor until 1799 as far as I know, but he bought his stepchildren a few instruments earlier on so I thought, why not. Though it was, in fact made of mahogany when he did buy one.
> 
> \- Joseph Haydn was a composer from Austria who began to make a name for himself in Europe in the 1750s and 60s. His music was known for its humor and he wrote a few solo piano songs in 1765. He was also a teacher of Beethoven and a friend of Mozart.
> 
> \- Sarah and James were real slaves of Washington, just as Betsy was. Their characterizations are, however, completely made up of course.
> 
> \- "At the drop of a hat," meaning 'instantly', originates from the fact that a hat dropping was an old signal for starting a race.
> 
> \- The story George Washington was telling is from when he was a boy. His mother had a colt that was out of control and one day he decided to try to tame it. With the help of his brothers, he slipped a bridal onto it, but it went out of control and one of its blood vessels popped, resulting in its death.
> 
> \- Washington could be quite sociable (instead of holding his normal cool and controlled demeanor) when he was in the comfort of his home and had grown fond of somebody.


	4. Invisible Threads of Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugggh, I can't believe I haven't updated for two weeks, but things were busy. To everyone reading: Please make sure to tell me what you think so far! I really do want to know. And if you have any questions (I know there are non-American readers), let me know and I'll do my best to clarify things for you. Thanks for reading!

_February 1766_

_Clunk._

Another swing.

_Clunk._

This time, the sound echoed throughout the church. Alfred flinched, stilling his legs to stop the buckles on his new leather shoes from hitting each other. He ducked his head a little. It wasn’t the best idea to make noise during a sermon after all. When the priest paused in his speech to flip a page of the Bible, the golden-haired lad glanced self-consciously to his left, then to his right to see if anyone was staring at him.

Sure enough, he was immediately confronted by a pair of stern, light blue eyes.

They belonged to a boy about his age. Alfred's eyes widened in a mildly frightened way.

The brown-haired youth beside him switched his serious expression to a kinder one, his slightly furrowed eyebrows straightening out as he let out a breath. He then held a finger up to his lips in a silencing manner.

"I'm sorry," Alfred whispered, then looked up at the boy and stuttered, "I-I mean, my apologies."

The boy smiled. "Formality is unnecessary. We are about the same age, yes?"

Alfred suppressed a laugh and pulled at his leggings and spatterdashes to straighten them out. "I suppose you could say that."

The other boy gave him a confused look. "What do you-" He paused. "Never mind. I'm sorry if I looked at you rather harshly. It's just that my father is the deacon who is speaking right now."

Alfred noted the look of pride in the boy's eyes and smiled. "I understand. Sorry again."

"Not a problem." The brunette returned to listening to the sermon. A moment later, he looked back at Alfred, then gazed around silently, lowering his eyebrows a fraction. "Are you from here? I don't believe I know you."

"Not exactly. My house is in Massachusetts, but I frequent the other colonies. I'm actually rather fond of Connecticut. A good friend of mine lives here," Alfred smiled, thinking of good ol' Benjamin.

"Oh my. Do your parents have jobs that require them to travel?"

Alfred shook his head. "My father travels quite a bit, but not here. He's often away at the motherland. Like right now." He muttered the last part sadly, his hand instinctively gripping the cloak that laid across his shoulders. The upper half of it had been embroidered to show the British flag, and the rest of it was a smooth, soft blue that reached past his knees. It had been one of Arthur's first gifts to him--one of many.

_"... There! It's finished!" Arthur held the cloth up. Satisfaction, pride, and excitement radiated from his bright green eyes. It was quite a sight: Captain Kirkland, the most feared pirate of the seven seas was sitting with his legs crossed, embroidering. "What do you think, Alfred?"_

_Alfred put down his toy soldiers and leapt to his feet, running over to where the man sat. His eyes grew impossibly rounder. "Wow! It's beautiful!"_

_"It's for you."_

_"Me?" He shook his head. "But England, you worked so hard on it."_

_Arthur smiled warmly and held the cloth out. "That's precisely why I'm giving it to you. Try it on, will you?"_

_Alfred received the cloth hesitantly, but put it on without a second thought once it was in his hands. The fabric bunched like a puddle around his feet. He flapped his arms a little beneath the folds engulfing his body, causing Arthur to chuckle._

_"The colors suit you. Don't worry, you'll grow into it."_

_"Thank you, England!"_

"... alone then?"

Alfred blinked. The memory he had been reliving faded away. "Pardon me?"

"Does your mother take care of you alone then?" the boy beside him repeated.

Alfred processed the question for a moment, then shook his head, earning a confused look from his companion. "No. I don't have a mother."

"Oh... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked..." The lad's eyebrows angled upwards sympathetically while a burning sensation flooded his cheeks, bringing with it the feeling that he'd overstepped a boundary.

Alfred shook his head once more. "It's alright. I mean, I don't really..." He trailed off, his eyes growing dull as if in a trance.

Images flashed in his mind: tiny hands grabbing fish in the middle of a cool stream, soft animal skins, a woman wearing a shell necklace, an old man telling a story by the fire, a garden of vegetables--particularly corn, beans, and squash--and the muffled sounds of shouts and screams.

As quickly as the images came, they were gone. And they felt strangely... _familiar._

His vision blurred, then came back into focus, and he saw the face of the boy he had been speaking to turn from concern to relief.

"Are you all right? You gave me a scare."

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck and smiled embarrassedly. "I'm just fine. Sorry about that."

"You've given me quite enough apologies for one day, don't you think?" the brunette said playfully. "Now, why don't-"

His sentence was interrupted by the echoing 'amen' in the church. The two boys glanced at each other, then said it as well and hurried out of the church behind everyone else.

Before Alfred could so much as register the cold stinging at his cheeks, people were surrounding him. But, surprisingly enough, they weren't upset or angry the way the crowds usually were. They were smiling.

"Alfred, I don't know how you did it but thank you, lad!"

"Give England my thanks, will you?"

"Oh, this is just wonderful!"

Alfred glanced from side to side, his eyebrows knitting together in utter confusion. "Excuse me, but what are you talking about?" he asked.

"Why, the repeal of the Stamp Act, of course! The news has spread like wildfire since those ships came into Boston Harbor this morning!"

His eyes flew wide. _Repeal... Boston Harbor... That means..._ His entire face lit up. "Are you telling me that England is back?!"

The boy beside Alfred stared at him. "England? What are you talking about? Is-" Alfred suddenly began to sprint.

"Hey! Wait a minute!" The brunette took off behind him and, with difficulty, followed him through the thick snow that blanketed Connecticut’s flat land.

They soon arrived at a small fence where a brown stallion's reins were tied to a pole. Alfred hastened to undo the knots with cold, clumsy fingers.

"Where are you going in this weather?" the brunette asked him, his arms clutching his shivering body.

Alfred turned to look at the boy with sparkling cerulean eyes. "Home!"

A small look of surprise crossed the other boy's face at the sudden change of attitude in his companion. His breath came out in puffs as he spoke. "Are you sure you'll be alright traveling all that way by yourself, uh..." He paused. "I don't know your name."

Alfred grinned, his cheeks red and numb from the biting frost. "My name is Alfred."

The brunette stared at Alfred for a minute and Alfred could almost see the gears turning in his head. Then the boy's pale blue eyes widened. "I see..." he murmured, holding a loosely clenched fist to his chin in thought.

Alfred shot him an odd look. "What?"

The other boy glanced up quickly and waved a hand to dismiss the thought. "Oh, nothing," he said, attempting a smile. "Anyway, my name is Nathan. Nathan Hale. It's a pleasure to meet you." He extended his hand, which Alfred shook before mounting his horse.

"Likewise," he replied in a friendly manner. He patted the cheek of his horse, voicing a "Come on, Davie" that signaled the stallion to run.

Nathan watched Alfred ride down the path, a lopsided smile appearing on his face at the thought that suddenly occurred to him. "Alfred!" he called, his hands on each side of his mouth to magnify his voice. "Make sure you keep the peace next Sunday!"

Alfred slowed down, confused for a moment. "Keep the-" _Clunk._ The sound resonated in his mind. He laughed a little and shouted back, "I'll keep that in mind!" before continuing down the road back to Massachusetts.

\-----

Alfred could not contain his joy at the sight of his house; the dark grey puffs drifting out of the chimney being the only signal he needed to know Arthur was home. With nothing in his mind but the pounding of his racing heart and the excitement gushing from every fiber of his being, he practically leapt off his horse and rushed through the deep snow blocking his path.

His stockings began to sag from the wet snow soaking them but he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was seeing-

"ENGLAND!"

The door flew open and Alfred ran through, shoes still on, ice crystals still clinging to his fine golden hair as he jumped into the arms of a startled Arthur, who caught him without hesitation. He pressed his cheek to the man's chest. The warmth of it stung his frozen face for a moment, and then embraced it with its pleasant heat. He could feel Arthur's body shaking as he chuckled, ruffling Alfred's hair with a gentle hand.

"My, I couldn't have been gone that long," he said, smiling in that way that made it plain as day that he was pleased with the greeting he'd received.

"Is it true, England? Did you really do it?" Alfred let go of him and took a step back. "The Stamp Act, I mean."

Arthur smiled. "I did tell you I had important business to take care of, did I not? I had a chat with the House of Commons, along with a few others, and from there..." Arthur paused. "Well, you don't need to know about that. Let's just say it went up and the request was approved, hm?"

A wave of warmth flooded Alfred's heart. He could hardly believe it. "You did that for me?"

"Of course." Arthur's eyes scanned Alfred and they gleamed even brighter. "I see you've been growing into that cardinal of yours. It isn't fitted for you quite yet, but you are getting there."

Alfred glanced at the cloth around his shoulders and held up one end, grinning cheekily.

"Nevertheless, I suppose we'll have to do something about that ensemble you have there. Spatterdashes and leggings won't be enough to pass you by this winter. Especially if you refuse to wear a cap," Arthur said, gesturing with his hand.

Alfred pouted. "Those things never fit me! Their stupid broad brims slide over my eyes and I can't see a thing!"

Arthur chuckled. "You never had a problem with them when you wanted to try on my pirate hats."

Alfred opened his mouth to retort. "I-" The sentence stopped there. A blush creeped up his cheeks. "Ah yes, that's right. Nature calls," he said, stomping stubbornly out of the room.

"I'm sure," Arthur said with a snort, the smile on his face unyielding.

\-----

The mattress made a soft creaking noise as Alfred laid down on it, pulling the cotton quilts over himself. His attention was suddenly caught by the beautiful red ribbon tied around the collar of his banyan and he smiled at it fondly, touching it with his index finger and thumb. He'd had it for so long now that he couldn't even remember how long ago Arthur had given it to him. The golden-haired boy pondered it for a moment, his eyebrows raising when he arrived at a number.

_It's been just over 100 years..._

He frowned. _Over 100 years since..._

A thought nagged at the back of his mind, just out of his reach. He focused on the ribbon again. _"Onekwenhtara."_ The word echoed in his mind. A woman's voice. Soft. Quiet. Sorrowful. [1]

He blinked. 

His eyebrows furrowed, confused. He repeated the word slowly. "One... kwenh... tara." It didn't sound quite the same when he said it. His mouth opened to try again.

_Creeeak._

And just like that, the thought was lost.

A circle of light glowed through the opening doorway, followed by Arthur stepping in quietly, candle lamp in hand. "Alfred? Are you still awake?" he called softly, making his way across the room. He set the lamp down on the small table next to the bed and sat down near Alfred's legs.

The boy gave a small nod. The candlelight cast a beautiful golden shine on his already brilliant blue eyes. It was like seeing the ocean glinting in a summer afternoon. Alfred moved over, patting the place beside him as an invitation for Arthur, who shook his head.

"Ah, I'm still in my town clothes. But thank you for the offer," he responded.

"That doesn't matter. You must be tired. You were working all day again, weren't you?" Alfred's forehead creased with concern. "You should lay down."

Arthur's eyebrows lifted a fraction, barely noticeable in the dim room, and then he smiled appreciatively. His thumb brushed over the boy's eyebrows in an effort to smooth them out. "That look doesn't suit you, Alfred. There is no need to worry. I'm fine."

As Arthur moved beneath the covers, Alfred snuggled close to him, pressing his cheek to his shoulder. Arthur, in turn, gazed at him tenderly and affectionately ran his fingers through the young boy's hair. "Do you want to hear a bedtime story?" he asked.

Alfred nodded.

"Well, let's see..." Arthur hummed to himself a moment. "There once lived an emperor in China who had a very beautiful kingdom. It was built entirely of porcelain, and very costly, but so delicate and brittle that whoever touched it was obliged to be careful. In the garden could be seen the most singular flowers, with pretty silver bells tied to them that tinkled so that every one who passed could not help noticing them. Everyone admired the emperor's palace and gardens, but when they heard the singing of the nightingale who lived beyond the garden in the noble forest they declared that it was the best of all. When the emperor heard about the nightingale, he sent his men to bring her for him.

"Eventually, a little girl who worked in the kitchen said that she knew of the bird and led the emperor’s court out into the forest to meet the nightingale. The nightingale was invited back to the palace to sing for the emperor. When he heard her sing, tears came to his eyes. He then offered the bird his golden slipper as a reward for her beautiful singing, but she insisted that she had been rewarded enough, for the emperor's tears were the richest of rewards. However, she was now to remain at court, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out twice a day, and once during the night. Twelve servants were appointed to attend her on these occasions, who each held her by a silken string fastened to her leg. The nightingale began to lose her spirit, as she did not experience much pleasure in this kind of flying."

Alfred's expression changed from one of wonder to one of melancholy. His thoughts wandered to Betsy back at Mount Vernon, and he realized that this is what she had been talking about. _"I have no freedom to do what I wish,"_ she had said. _But the Washingtons treat her better than this. She said so herself,_ he assured himself, and listened as Arthur continued.

"Then one day, the king of Japan sent a beautiful artificial nightingale to the Chinese emperor. This nightingale was covered with precious gems and sang wonderfully as well. But it could sing only one song. Everyone forgot the real nightingale, and sadly, she flew away. When her flight had been discovered, all the courtiers blamed her, and said she was a very ungrateful creature. After this, the real nightingale was banished from the empire, and the artificial bird was placed on a silk cushion close to the emperor’s bed. But the artificial bird was unreliable and its spring soon broke. It could not sing any longer." Arthur's eyebrows furrowed somberly, but he went on.

"Years passed. The emperor fell ill and was near death. No doctor could cure him. But the emperor was not yet dead, although he lay white and stiff on his gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. A window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the artificial bird. The poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death sitting there."

Arthur's eyes brightened. His voice began to grow louder and more excited.

"But suddenly there came through the open window the sound of sweet music. Outside, on the bough of a tree, sat the living nightingale! She had heard of the emperor’s illness, and had therefore come to sing to him of hope and trust. And as she sung, the shadows of Death grew paler and paler; the blood in the emperor’s veins flowed more rapidly, and gave life to his weak limbs; and even Death himself listened, urged her on, and then left without taking the emperor's life. The emperor then said..."

Arthur glanced at Alfred and his voice trailed off at the sight of the boy's sleeping face. He was surprised for a moment, but then smiled and kissed the boy's forehead. Then, with minimal noise, he slipped out of the bed, pulled the covers farther over Alfred's small form, and left the room with the candle lamp in hand.

"Good night, Alfred."

\-----

_Late March 1766_

The chalky light of the winter morning filtered in through the window and rested on Alfred's face. His eyes scrunched up uncomfortably, then opened as he stretched his arms and legs out with a yawn. Goosebumps rose from his skin the moment he slid the covers off and began to change. Even now it was still cold, but that was just life in the New England colonies; no surprises there. As he buttoned up his waistcoat, he began to head out of the room and down the stairs to the ground floor of the house, his eyes peeled for any signs of movement.

"England?" he called, stepping into the area that held the kitchen. “Ah, good morning, England!" he said, catching sight of the man boiling potatoes.

Arthur turned to look at him. His eyes were narrowed slightly as if in pain. “Good morning! Are you ready for breakfa- when did you begin wearing a cravat?"

Alfred glanced down at the cloth wrapped around his neck. "I just thought it would be good since it's cold out. Besides, you always wear one..." he said shyly, hands interlaced behind his back.

Arthur raised his eyebrows, then smiled. "I see. You should tie it a little differently to make it more comfortable. Here, let me help."

He kneeled down and began to unwrap the scarf and then retie it around the boy's neck. Alfred gazed down at Arthur's hands, noticing the sores on his knuckles and the long red marks embedded in his palms. As Arthur finished fixing his scarf, Alfred reached out and grabbed one of his hands.

A look of surprise flickered across Arthur's face. "What are you doing?"

Alfred's eyebrows furrowed, half angry and half concerned. "What were _you_ doing?" he asked, his tone showing he would not accept anything but the truth.

Arthur could not contain his astonishment at the attitude the boy was exhibiting. He searched for an acceptable answer. "I was simply cutting firewood earlier this morning."

Alfred stared at him for what seemed like an eternity before freeing Arthur's wrist from his hold. He instead picked his coat and cardinal up and put them on.

"Where do you think you're going? Come back here, Alfred," Arthur said, folding his arms across his chest and staring at Alfred, who was heading towards the door. He was suddenly met with concerned blue eyes that again shocked him into silence.

"I'm going to get something for your hands. I'll be back soon." Alfred slipped his cloak's hood over his head and ran out the door.

"Alfred, I'm _fine!_ I will go get something later. _You_ have to eat breakfast," Arthur shouted, chasing after him. But by the time he caught up to to the boy, Alfred was already riding away on his horse.

Alfred couldn't help but close his eyes and sigh. Arthur was always doing these things. Something would happen and he would pretend it hadn't. Sometimes he'd use a lie or a smile to cover it up. Even when he was much younger, Alfred could tell when England was lying, but he just accepted it quietly and carried on. But accepting it didn't mean he wasn't still bothered by it.

 _I wish he would tell me what was wrong once in a while. I can help. I'm not a child any more. He's always trying to take care of me but I can do things by myself._ Alfred closed his eyes, allowing the frigid wind to sweep through his hair. _Maybe he's just worried about me._

A couple hours passed, and Alfred's stomach suddenly lurched and growled disapprovingly. He glanced down at his belly and let out a breath. _Why do I have a talent for always leaving right before a meal? I should've taken some bread on the way out at least._ He pulled on Davie's reins to stop his horse from going any farther and looked around, trying to figure out where he was.

"Well look who it is! The noisiest church goer in all of New England."

His attention diverted from his empty stomach to the brown-haired boy on the horse just a few feet in front of him. Alfred laughed.

"Well if it isn't the most serious eleven-year-old in all of New England," he said, crossing his arms.

Nathan grinned. "It's been some time, Alfred. What brings you to Connecticut?"

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. "To tell you the truth, I didn't mean to come here, but I was looking for some medicine."

Nathan put a hand on his chin. "Medicine? Hmm... I believe there is a good shop in New Haven, which isn't far from here. I can take you there if you'd like," he offered.

"Really? Wait, what are you doing so far from Coventry?"

"I was running a few errands. Nevertheless, I'm done, so we can be on our way now," Nathan said, turning his horse to have it stand next to Alfred's.

"Oh, uh, before we leave..." Alfred looked at him sheepishly.

Nathan lifted an eyebrow suspiciously. "Yes?"

"Would you happen to have any food? Because I, uh... want some..."

Nathan chortled. "You really are nutty, aren't you?"

Alfred instantly flushed a deep shade of red. "Don't laugh! I left without breakfast!"

"And whose fault is that, might I ask?" Nathan asked, still giggling, and pulled on his horse's reins--a signal for it to run.

"Hey!" Alfred shouted, following him.

\-----

The shop was rather large for a pharmacy. Upon entering, Alfred could see a large cabinet with two columns of shelves that held many flasks of strangely colored liquids and boxes at the back wall. In front of the cabinet was a counter, and between the counter and the cabinet sat a small, neat looking man reading a newspaper who was beginning to look up slowly, making both Alfred and Nathan freeze.

"Who's he?" Alfred whispered.

"I think that's Mr. Benedict Arnold. He certainly looks the way everyone describes him," Nathan whispered back.

Arnold put his paper down and stood up. "Boys, if you need something, please make haste."

Alfred stepped forward. "Um, would you happen to have anything for sores or large bruises?"

The man behind the counter turned around and began fiddling through a drawer. Eventually, he found what he was looking for and placed it on the counter with a small note tied to it.

"This is comfrey. Make a poultice with it and it should help any surface wounds heal faster. I've written the instructions down here so that you don't forget how to make it." Arnold said, pointing to the paper attached to the herb.

As he continued to speak, Nathan's eyes wandered to the newspaper he had put down. _The New London Gazette_ was written on the top of it in big, fancy cursive. His fair blue eyes flew wide as he continued to scan the words on the page. Suddenly, he slammed his fist down on the counter, earning a startled look from both Alfred and Arnold.

"Nathan, what happened?" Alfred asked.

"What in bloody hell is this?!" he shouted, picking the paper up and reading angrily. "'Whereas several of the houses of representatives in his Majesty's colonies and plantations in America, have of late, against law, claimed to themselves, or to the general assemblies of the same, the sole and exclusive right of imposing duties and taxes upon his Majesty's subjects in the said colonies and plantations; and have, in pursuance of such claim, passed certain votes, resolutions, and orders, derogatory to the legislative authority of parliament, and inconsistent with the dependency of the said colonies and plantations upon the crown of Great Britain.

"'Be it declared that the said colonies and plantations in America have been, are, and of right ought to be subordinate unto, and dependent upon the imperial crown and parliament of Great Britain; and that the King's majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the lords spiritual and temporal, and commons of Great Britain, in parliament assembled, had, hash, and of right ought to have, full power and authority to make laws and statutes of sufficient force and validity to bind the colonies and people of America, subjects of the crown of Great Britain, in all cases whatsoever!'"

Alfred's face tensed. He clenched his fists as Nathan continued onward.

"'And be it further declared that all resolutions, votes, orders, and proceedings, in any of the said colonies or plantations, whereby the power and authority of the parliament of Great Britain, to make laws and statutes as aforesaid, is denied, or drawn into question, are, and are hereby declared to be, utterly null and void to all intents and purposes whatsoever,'" he finished. "These are the words that were sent over from Parliament. I can't believe they would say something like this less than a month after repealing the Stamp Act!"

Alfred's eyes turned hard. He set a few bills down on the counter, grabbed the comfrey, and ran out of the shop.

"Alfred! Where are you going?" Nathan called after him as the door swung shut.

Alfred mounted his horse and set off back towards Massachusetts. Arthur's words from months ago echoed in his head.

_"The colonists are all just subjects of his Majesty, King George III. Their personal feelings about matters are invalid because they are all dependent upon Britain and shall continue to be for the rest of their lives. No matter what they feel, they must follow the rules."_

Alfred gritted his teeth.

_I can't believe you, England._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Nathan Hale's father was a well-known deacon in Coventry, Connecticut, where the Hale family lived. Nathan himself was known to be serious, intelligent, religious, and very athletic.
> 
> \- Beds: Some beds at this point had headboards, some didn't. Wealthy people's mattresses were stuffed with cotton and goose feathers, very few with springs, and the poorer people probably still stuffed their mattresses with corn husks and whatnot. It's really all over the place because life really changes a lot between the mid/late 1700s and the early 1800s.
> 
> \- [1] and [2]: I don't want to say too much about these for now. Kudos if you can already see where I'm going with those. Just don't spoil it, okay? If not, I'm glad. Keep it in mind for when I expand on it later!
> 
> \- So, the Nightingale story. Unfortunately, try as I did to find a good fairytale or folktale from colonial America, most of them were rather... silly. They had talking animals and smaller life lessons like "don't be cocky," or they were just for humor. Plus, the Nightingale story was a great fit. And if you're confused about why I'm talking about this: The Nightingale story was originally written in 1840, a good 74 years ahead of the current time period. I love it a lot, and since there was nothing else I felt very strongly about using, I added it in. Of course, it had to be shortened by a lot because the original story is much longer.
> 
> \- Believe it or not, the word "nutty" did exist in the 1700s.
> 
> \- Benedict Arnold was both a pharmacist and bookseller in New Haven before the American Revolution. He was known for his prickly personality.
> 
> \- The New London Gazette began printing in 1763. It was originally titled "The Connecticut Gazette."
> 
> \- Did Nathan Hale know Benedict Arnold before the war? I'm not sure. It's possible, especially since they lived in the same small colony, but I haven't read anything that confirms it.
> 
> \- The paragraphs stating the terms of the Declaratory Act were taken from ushistory.org.
> 
> Clothing Glossary (in order of appearance):
> 
> \- Leggings/Spatterdashes: In the 18th century, a man's breeches came to just beneath the knee and weren't sufficient covering for the winter. For that reason, either leggings or spatterdashes were worn for extra warmth. Leggings covered the lower leg from a few inches above the knee to the top of the foot. Spatterdashes covered the leg from the mid-shin to the top of the foot. Both were made of linen, cotton, wool, and other materials. Poor Alfred has zero sense of style so he wears both.
> 
> \- Cloak/Cardinal: Men in the 1700s also wore cloaks--especially when it was cold. Cloaks had a collar that tied at the neck, a cape over the shoulders, and hung to the knee or below. They were often made of dense wool, but other materials as well. Alfred's cloak reaches well past his knees at this point because it's made for him to wear in adulthood.
> 
> \- Hats: The hats depicted in portraits of George Washington, or as mentioned in the story, that you'd imagine pirates wearing were commonly worn by men until wearing wigs made it impractical to wear a hat. They were known for their broad brims and different fold styles.
> 
> \- Banyan: Not the same thing as it is today. Basically a man's nightgown. It could be light and airy or quilted and warm depending on the season.
> 
> \- Cravat: The white linen neck scarf that was wrapped around the neck and had lace or folds that hung loosely out the front.


	5. Change These Tears Into Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dedicating this chapter to thatonegreenpencil for being an awesome friend and inspiring me to keep writing this story. Thanks a lot!

"ENGLAND!" Alfred shouted, entering the house.

The parlor was empty.

He walked through the house until he reached Arthur's study. This time he didn't even knock, but just opened the door and went inside. Arthur was sitting at his desk, focused on writing some letter. As Alfred cleared his throat, Arthur sighed and spoke without looking up.

"So you're back, are you? Your breakfast is still on the table. Heat it in the pan over the hearth and eat. I'll have a word with you about your behavior once I'm finished writing this-" Arthur looked up and saw how deep Alfred's eyebrows were etched into his face and the hard glint in his anger induced, wide eyes. "-letter...." his voice trailed off. He put his quill down and stood up.

"What's going on, Alfred?" he asked uncertainly. This was a much different greeting than the one he had expected.

Alfred could not keep the ire out of his voice. "Where is today's newspaper, England? I would like to read it."

Arthur was taken aback. "The newspaper?" He attempted a smile. Alfred raised an eyebrow. "You don't need to know about anything printed in-"

"Enough!" Alfred slammed his hand down on the desk. Arthur's eyes widened. "I know about the Declaratory Act! What is this, England? Is that why you always hide the paper from me? Is this why you don't let me read some of your books? Is this why you didn't fully explain your encounter with the House of Commons when you came back last month? You don't want me to know! You don't want me to know anything, do you?!" Alfred shouted. He took a moment to catch his breath. "All that rubbish you were saying about the colonists being only subjects of the king, about how their opinions don't matter; I thought you repealed the Stamp Act to make amends, but you didn't mean a thing!"

Arthur's own anger began to rise. "How dare you speak to me like that, Alfred?! I have had enough of-"

"Bloody hell, England, you're even avoiding all of my questions!" Alfred interrupted. Blood pulsed in Arthur's head. Alfred continued his verbal assault. "It _is_ true! So tell me _why!_ Why are you doing this?! Did I do something wrong? Do you hate-"

"SHUT UP, YOU ARROGANT BANTLING!" Arthur's hand connected with Alfred's face, sending him hurtling towards the ground.

Arthur breathed hard for a couple seconds, and then the realization of what he had done hit him like a freight train. He watched Alfred slowly pick himself off the hardwood floor, rubbing his cheek with one hand. When he opened his eyes, they were round and wide, and stared at Arthur with a fear and disbelief that shattered the man's heart. The boy fought to keep tears from his eyes as he stood up unsteadily and faced Arthur with his slightly bruised face.

"A-Alfred, I..." Arthur could not even find the words to apologize.

Alfred untied his cloak from around his neck with shaky hands and threw the cloth at his caretaker. "And this, England? Was this another sign that I'm your property? Wearing the symbol of your flag on my back?" He stared at the ground, his golden hair shadowing his face.

Arthur's eyes and nose stung. He suddenly found that he could not breathe. "A-Alfred... No..." His hands gripped the cloak and he remembered the hours he'd spent laboring on it, making sure every detail was perfect, the excitement bubbling in his chest for the moment he would finish it and be able to give it to the person who had given him a gift he could never repay. He hadn't cared when the ship's crew made jabs at him for being 'soft' and 'showing such care for a mere boy' because it was all true and he was proud of it. _He was happy._

Drops of water began to darken the deep blue fabric, and Arthur could not stop his tears from coming two at a time. "Alfred, I could _never_ hate you." His voice pleaded. A lump built up in his throat. The words he really wanted to say simply would not come out and _damn it all_ , how he wanted to say them.

Alfred looked up at Arthur's face and realized that he had, perhaps, gone too far. But he didn’t want to have to think about that right now. Arthur had hurt him first, right? So he was the victim, wasn't he? Besides, there was just no way he’d hurt the great empire's feelings. That was unheard of.

His hand traveled to his coat pocket, and he remembered the comfrey that he had bought for Arthur. He took it out and set it on the desk, not wanting to hold on to it any longer.

"I bought this to make your hands better," he said quietly.

Arthur didn't know what to feel anymore and once more, he stood stunned as Alfred turned around and ran away from him yet again. He could hear the faint sounds of small feet pattering across the floor. Then the front door opened and shut, and the entire house was silent.

He must have stood there for hours, staring at the hand that he'd accidentally raised at the wrong moment. Then he crumbled into his chair, burying his face in his hands. As he shifted in his seat, his foot hit something, and it hurt him all the more. He had been looking forward to giving Alfred the violin that he'd worked to the point of bruising his hands to finish, but now he didn't know when he would see Alfred again. Perhaps another two weeks like last time. Perhaps a month. And yet even knowing that the boy had left, that he could still chase after him, he could not move.

From between his fingers he could see the comfrey that Alfred had left on his desk and he smiled bittersweetly. It overjoyed him to know how much Alfred cared, but it hurt that that same boy felt the feeling was not mutual--and rightfully so.

Alfred's barrage of questions burned his mind.

_Why, indeed._

\-----

"Ah, so you're finally awake, ay chap?"

Alfred's vision was blurry as he sat up and accidentally knocked heads with the boy who was leaning over him.

"Ow! My God, look before you act, you fool!"

Alfred clutched his head with his hands before looking up. "Nathan? What are you doing here?" he asked, looking around helter-skelter.

Nathan crossed his arms over his chest. "You're in my house." He gestured with his hand. "In my bed, as well."

"Wh- How?"

Nathan laughed, putting his hand on his chin and recalling the events of only an hour ago. "On my way home from New Haven, I made a stop at the dressmaker's to see if my mum's dress was done. About an hour later, I was back on the road home when I came across, who else but the blonde boy who had left me at the pharmacy earlier. You were about to pass out, mumbling something about baked beans and whatnot. You also had a fever so I brought you home. Mum said you could stay in my room since you didn't look well at all. I've been changing the wet cloth on your forehead for the past hour. So there you have it," he finished. He scanned him up and down and added, "You should probably eat something."

Alfred blinked. "You brought me all the way here?"

"On my horse, yes."

Alfred leaned back against the wall, his eyes narrowing in sadness. He touched his cheek, feeling how it had swelled up a bit.

Nathan's eyebrows angled upwards sympathetically. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. "Perhaps after you eat?"

Alfred was about to respond when his stomach suddenly growled an answer for him. He glanced up at Nathan and the two burst into laughter at the same time.

"I'll take that as a yes," Nathan said, smiling and leaving the room.

Alfred could hear conversation and laughter occurring between many people as soon as Nathan entered the dining room, and he wondered what it must be like to live every day in a house with a large family like the Hales'. Living with England was quiet and at times, very lonely. Even when Arthur came to visit he always had a lot of work to do, so Alfred had to find things to entertain himself.

 _It wasn't always like this though..._ he thought, memories of two other people, a man and a boy who didn’t look very different from himself, filling his mind.

He looked up as Nathan came back in with a bowl of oyster chowder and a plate of baked cranberry pudding. The brown-haired boy noticed the look of sorrow that remained on his companion's face and gave him a kind smile.

"Alfred, come with me," he said, leading the way out of the room. He glanced back. "Oh, you might want to bring your jacket."

Alfred raised his eyebrows, but nevertheless got up and followed him, putting his coat on as he walked. Nathan led him out the back door of the house and then handed Alfred his food.

"Hold this for a moment, please."

As Nathan brought a ladder over, Alfred took in the surroundings. The house seemed a bit secluded from the other houses in the area. It felt quiet, peaceful, and it was much different than living in bustling, busy Boston. He rather liked the idea of living in a place like this with trees and grass everywhere instead of dirt paths, stone walls, and brick buildings everywhere.

"After you," Nathan said, grasping Alfred's attention. His hand pointed to the ladder he'd set up against the house. Alfred handed his dinner back to Nathan and climbed up to the rooftop before receiving it again. Nathan climbed up after him and laid down beside him, hands folded over his waist, face to the sky.

He took in a deep breath of the fresh air and glanced over at Alfred. "This is usually where I come when I'm feeling sorry for myself," he said, propping himself up with his arms. "You should see it when the sun is setting. It's magnificent."

Alfred put a spoonful of chowder in his mouth and then gazed up at the stars. Looking at them gave his chest a funny feeling. It was warm, but also kind of hollow in a way that made his stomach twinge. The cold breeze made his cheeks a little numb as he took another spoonful.

Nathan folded his arms behind his head and laid back again, glancing at Alfred every once in a while.

Alfred chewed a little slower. When he swallowed his mouthful, he looked at Nathan uncertainly, noticing how the boy had been fidgeting. "Did you want to say something?" he asked.

Nathan looked over shyly. "No, it's nothing," he said quietly, turning his gaze back to the stars. A couple minutes passed in silence. His eyes wandered back to Alfred. "What's it like living for hundreds of years?" he asked suddenly, not even making eye contact.

Alfred choked on the spoonful he had just put in his mouth and struggled to swallow the entire thing. When he recovered, he looked at Nathan with astonishment. "Wha- I- How did you know?"

The boy beside him snickered and sat up, now talking to Alfred face to face. "It wasn't very hard to figure out. You left so many clues," he said, beginning to count on his fingers. "Talking about your father who travels so much, giving me a strange answer when I compared our ages, and why else would those people have been asking you about England if you had no relation to him? From there, all I needed was your name. It didn't take a detective to connect the dots."

Alfred's eyes gleamed in amazement. "So that's why you acted so strange back when I introduced myself. You say it's not a big deal, but you certainly sound like a detective to me."

Nathan smiled and shrugged. "Maybe. But anyway, about that question..."

Alfred thought about it, his eyes narrowing as he stared up at the shimmering dark blue sky. "It's..." He sighed, putting his empty bowl down and laying flat on his back, the back of his hand on his forehead. "It's hard." Nathan looked at him attentively and he continued. "I don't like to think about it very often, but it hurts when I do.

"I've been alive for a long time, and yet I'm still stuck in a child's body. It's degrading in a way. I was an infant for most of my life. I remember seeing and hearing things, but I couldn't process them. I still can't when I think back to those times. It's frustrating." He squinted a little. "I don't even remember being a toddler at all. But I do remember when England found me.

"After that I started to grow up very fast, but about one hundred years ago, my growth slowed down again and I've hardly changed since then." He smiled weakly. "I want to grow up now so that I'm not so limited anymore, so that I can do things that are actually helpful." He covered his eyes with his arm. "I want..." He clenched his teeth and then his smile fell apart. "I'm tired of being weak..."

Nathan's eyes widened at the sight of water streaming down the edges of his friend's face. "Hey..." he said gently, touching his hand to the other boy's shoulder.

Alfred rubbed his eyes. "I want to be recognized. I don't want England or anyone to treat me like a child anymore just because I look like one."

"I understand. You will get there someday. I believe it," Nathan said, grinning at Alfred, whose tears faded away. He glanced at the plate on Alfred's right. "But if you're too old for baked cranberry pudding, I'll make sure you don't have to see it. I certainly wouldn't want you getting upset again," he said, reaching for the plate.

Alfred snatched it out of the way and began to devour it, watching an almost comical distress overtake his friend's face.

"W-Wait! Alfred! Are you eating the entire thing?! At least leave one morsel! I wasn't able to eat any because I saved my piece for you!"

Alfred swallowed the last bite and gave Nathan a sly look, holding back a fit of giggles.

Nathan responded with a confused look. "What is it?"

" _'And whose fault is that, might I ask?'_ " he quoted in a snobby tone, immediately bursting into laughter.

Nathan's face burned a deep pink. "You-! That's the last time I do you a favor!"

"Aww, come on Nathan, don't be like that! It was just a joke!"

"Let go of me, you pompkin! Or else both of us will fall off this roof!"

"Squeeze crab!"

"I am not! Besides, I'm taller than you are, you dandy prat!"

"Dandy prat?! Some gentleman you are!"

"You were saying it t- ALFRED, YOU KICKED THE LADDER AWAY!"

"Uh, oops."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?!"

"I'm _sorry!_ "

\-----

Nathan glanced over his shoulder, barely able to see Alfred's face with the only illumination in the room being the very small amount of light filtering in through the window. But even with such little light he could see that the golden-haired boy was still awake, seeming to stare off into a world that Nathan could not see or imagine. He sighed and closed his eyes again, putting forth a weak effort to fall asleep himself.

"Nathan?" Alfred suddenly called out in the dark, the creaking of his mattress indicating that he had rolled over to face his friend.

"Yes?" Nathan responded with mock grogginess, turning over as well.

He watched a sullen expression shadow Alfred's face as the boy pulled the covers over himself as if to feel more secure. "What... is it like having such a large family?" his voice asked softly.

 _What a strange question..._

Nathan shrugged and said as he adjusted his pillow, "I suppose it's a bit loud, but it's normal to me. Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering." Alfred paused. "... Do you have a brother?"

"Five. But if you mean a brother that is particularly close to me, then..." Nathan thought for a moment, smiling faintly. "I would most likely say my older brother, Enoch. I spend a great deal of time with him."

A small smile settled on Alfred's face as he seemed to get caught in that other world again, thinking. Then he said quietly, "I have a brother too. His name is Matthew. We're about the same age. We used to spend a lot of time together, but... not anymore."

 _Canada, no doubt._ Nathan thought to himself. He remained silent for a few minutes, unsure what to say. _Surely he knows why._ "I see. It must have been hard on you up until four years ago with England gone for so long. He must have visited you very rarely."

Alfred opened his eyes. "How did you know?" he asked, sitting up a little.

Nathan was a bit taken aback by the response, considering the events of the Seven Years' War were common knowledge. Then he narrowed his eyes sympathetically, eyebrows slightly furrowed. _Perhaps he doesn't know after all..._ he thought sadly. "Alfred..." he began, testing the waters. "What happened to your brother?"

"I'm not really sure." Alfred said, his forehead creasing. "England started taking care of him a few years ago because Père couldn't for some reason." As he spoke, his words seemed to slow down a bit, as if he wasn't quite sure if he was right.

"Père?" Nathan asked with a yawn.

"It's French for 'father,'" Alfred clarified.

"Hmm," he said, acknowledging that he'd heard him. "Well, I should sleep, Alfred. I have to go to school tomorrow," Nathan said, turning his back to Alfred again, his eyes growing heavy. Hardly a minute passed before Alfred called out again, his voice soft and hesitant.

"Nathan?"

"Hm?"

"What do you think of when you hear the word 'freedom'?"

 _What is running through that mind of yours, Alfred?_ He pondered the question for a bit before answering finally. "I think of... an eagle. They're said to have bad qualities, and perhaps they do, but at least they can go where they please and do as they wish. I think that is something not many of us can do."

Alfred seemed satisfied with this answer and laid down. "Good night, Nathan."

"Good night, Alfred."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Bantling: Another word for child used in colonial times
> 
> \- Although it wasn't uncommon for parents to hit their children during these times, Arthur had probably never laid a hand on Alfred before and had never planned to. Arthur isn't abusive, but he has a hard time expressing himself, though that's no excuse.
> 
> \- The Hale family lived in a house that sat on a 400 acre farming property. This house was later rebuilt and expanded by Nathan's father, Richard Hale, in 1776 to fit their large family. The rebuilt house still stands on the property in Coventry, Connecticut and is considered a landmark. It was restored in the early 20th century by George Dudley Seymour, who repainted the interior of the house.
> 
> \- Eastern oyster is the official state symbol of Connecticut due to the fact that many people ate them regularly in the early days of the colony. Chowder was a common dinner table dish, and baked cranberry pudding was just one of the early desserts made in the New England colonies.
> 
> \- Alfred doesn't want to be independent, but rather, he wants Arthur to take what he says seriously and to consider his opinions. He also wants to be able to do something important instead of just spending his days running around without purpose.
> 
> \- Pompkin (Now known as pumpkin, as far as I can tell. The old recipes that say 'pompkin' show what looks to be a pumpkin): A name for a man or woman of colonial Boston because of the number of pumpkins they raised and ate in their foods.
> 
> \- Squeeze Crab: A sour-looking, small fellow
> 
> \- Dandy Prat: An insignificant person
> 
> (All three of these phrases are slang that common folk would use.)
> 
> \- Canada was actually called Canada even at this time. In 1535, French explorer Jacques Cartier called it by this name, which originates from the Huron-Iroquoian word, "kanata," which means village or settlement.
> 
> \- Many people in the colonies, especially Benjamin Franklin, believed the eagle to have very bad traits. When deciding the symbols of America, Ben Franklin argued that a turkey would be a much more suitable choice. Can you imagine what would have happened if people had agreed with his idea?


	6. I Love the World of Your Smiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't started already, I would highly suggest reading my other story "Deganawida" if you want to be understand what's going to happen in a few chapters. Deganawida won't be nearly as long as Farewells May Come One Day. Most likely around five chapters. The flashbacks from chapter four of this story will also be explained in that one.

Alfred scrunched his eyes up and stared at his cards, then at the ones on the table.

"Mr. Washington, are you sure we're doing this right? I really don't understand."

Washington sighed and set his cards down. "Alfred, whist is a game of silence."

"Well how am I supposed to play if I don't get it?" he defended.

"Fair enough," Washington conceded with a sigh. He gathered the cards back up into a deck.

Alfred turned to stare out the window at the seemingly never-ending fields and the sky painted with burning orange streaks that smoothly faded out to more pleasant pinks and lavender.

It had been about three months since he'd left Nathan's house. He really would have stayed with him longer if it wasn't for the fact that the Hales' house was already full of children. Not to mention, Nathan was always busy with something or the other. Being the most popular boy in all of Connecticut did that to someone.

Still, the brunette had insisted that Alfred stay, but he knew better than to impose.

Alfred's mind wandered back to the conversation he had had with the boy before he left.

_"You're leaving?" Nathan repeated incredulously. "But you just got here! Are you going back home then?" he asked, looking for his hornbook._

_Alfred shook his head. "No, not yet."_

_"Then what do you plan to do?"_

_"I have a friend in Virginia whom I promised I would visit, so I might as well go see him. And also..." Alfred trailed off, unsure whether to say what was on his mind or not._

_Nathan turned to look at him. "And also?"_

_"I want to write a letter to Père," he said, fiddling with his fingers. "When we talked last night, I realized how much I miss him," Alfred said quietly._

_Nathan gave him a sympathetic look. "I see." Then he raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Wait, why were you so hesitant to say something like that?"_

_Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I kind of need paper and ink to do that, so..."_

_"So?"_

_"Can I... borrow some?"_

_Nathan snorted and began laughing. "I see somebody still hasn't learned how to ask for a favor! Next time you run away perhaps you should have a package ready to take with you!"_

_Alfred's ears turned red. "H-Hey, that's mean! Don't be such a squeeze crab!"_

_"Squeeze crab?! I let you stay in my house! And anyway, you won't have time to write it now. You should think out a letter that important."_

_"Maybe you're right."_

_"Of course I am. Now, you should promise to come visit your friend in Connecticut as well," he said with a gesture of the hand._

_Alfred held a finger up to his chin. "Who would that be?"_

_"YOU DANDY PRAT, HOW DARE YOU-"_

_"Oh, you mean my best friend!" Alfred grinned._

_The irritation dropped from Nathan's face. He stood still for a moment or so. Then he smiled, his pale blue eyes glowing. "That's right."_

Alfred suddenly snapped his attention back to Washington. "Oh, that reminds me... Mr. Washington, has anything come for me in the mail yet?"

Washington's eyes widened. "Yes, that's right," he said, searching his shirt and jacket pockets. "I'm sorry, lad. I forgot about it completely. It came in this morning." He held a neat envelope out.

Alfred's eyes lit up. "That's all right. Thank you for picking it up for me," he said, taking it.

He tried his best to open the wax seal on the back without harming the envelope and flinched at the sharp sound of the paper tearing.

The folded paper inside had beautiful cursive curled across it in neat lines. He gently brushed his fingers over those smooth lines of ink, appreciating the penmanship. A faint scent of roses emanated from the paper, a definite sign of who had sent it. Alfred smiled.

His eyes squinted a little as he began to read the letter.

_Dear Alfred,_

_I was very happy to receive your letter, mon fils! It has been quite some time! Your handwriting has certainly improved since the last time I saw it. I am proud to say it looks much like mine!_

_I have been well, thank you. Unfortunately, I am afraid you have not been the same. Je suis désolé about England. A great deal of the blame for how he is treating you is mine to bear, I admit, and I only wish you did not have to get involved in our disagreement._

_If I could help you, I would mon cheri, but although I said I am well, I have many problems to fix right now in mon propre pays. Even so, please let me know if I can be of any assistance._

_As for England, he is in a difficult place right now so try not to judge him too harshly. He did not treat you the way he should have and you have a right to be angry, but he is under a great deal of pressure, you see. Even us francais have heard about it._

_Nevertheless, you said you wanted to forgive him, no?_

_If you truly wish to then you should. I am certain he is very sorry for what happened and wishes to fix it._

_Je te aime, mon petit chou! I have missed you dearly. If you see Mathieu make sure to give him my love. Once I have the chance, I will come to see both of you!_

_All my love,_

_Francis Bonnefoy_

Alfred held the letter close to his chest happily. 

_Je te aime aussi, Père._

As he looked back up at Washington's face, he noticed the man giving him a serious and almost concerned look.

"What did he say?" he asked.

Alfred looked down unsurely, tucking the letter safely back into its envelope.

"Père thinks I should go back, but..." He looked up expectantly.

Washington leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. "Alfred, you know this is not my business."

"But you have an opinion," Alfred said, eyes narrowing. "I can tell you do, sir. And I know you want to say it."

Washington gave him a look of surprise. "And when did you become so observant?"

Alfred grinned. "I made a new friend who's a good detective."

Washington chuckled. "Is that so? What would the name of this friend be?"

Alfred crossed his arms. "Mr. Washington, are you changing the subject?"

"You sound like Martha...” the man muttered under his breath. He sighed. "If you must know, I do not trust England."

Alfred's eyebrows furrowed, but before he could say anything, the sound of footsteps diverted both of their gazes to the doorway where Betsy stood, looking down shyly.

"Hello, Master Washington. Hello, Alfred," she greeted. "Supper has been prepared if you wish to eat now."

"Ah yes. Excellent," Washington said, standing up. "Come now, Alfred."

Alfred stood up as well and pushed his chair in, chattering excitedly about what he hoped they were having as he followed Washington out of the room.

"Mr. Washington, you know how you told me you like cherries? Well is that story that Mrs. Washington told me about you and that cherry tree true?"

"How many fake stories has Martha told you about me?"

\-----

Alfred sat upright against the headboard of the bed, rubbing his eyes. He glanced at the letter on his bedside table and sighed, brushing his hair back with one hand.

 _Père's right, but England's probably already gone back by now,_ he thought with a frown, laying down on his side. _So what am I supposed to do..._

The door creaked open and his head immediately shot up from the pillow, frightened at the sudden noise breaking through the silence.

"Alfred? Are you awake?" a soft voice called out as the door shut.

Alfred peered past the canopy bed's curtains, his face lighting up at the sight of Betsy.

"Miss Betsy! What are you doing here?"

She held a finger up to her lips. "Shh, we must be quiet. It would not end well if we woke the master and the mistress." She fiddled self-consciously with her tattered sleeves as she spoke.

"Why?" Alfred asked, confused.

Betsy stared at her hands. "That is... not important. In any case," she said, looking back up at him, "I wanted to speak to you about something."

"Okay." Alfred pulled the curtains on the bed back completely, gesturing for her to sit down.

"I am fine standing."

He crossed his arms and pouted. "That's what England always says too."

Betsy took a step forward hesitantly, then paused and glanced at his face for reassurance before finally sitting down.

Alfred grinned at his victory and Betsy laughed a little at how proud he was of himself. This only caused him to smile even wider.

"You know, Miss Betsy, you're very pretty when you smile! I wish you would do it more often instead of always looking so serious."

Betsy's eyes widened, becoming round. "P-Pretty?" she stuttered. She looked at him with a strange mix of sorrow and delight in her deep brown eyes. "Nobody has complimented me like that in a very long time," she said, smiling. Then she shook her head. "But I didn't come here to talk to you about that. I wanted to speak to you about England."

Alfred's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "England? Why?"

Betsy looked away. "I really should not be saying this since it goes against Master Washington's and Lady Washington's wishes, but I believe you should forgive your father."

Alfred blinked. "How did you know what happened?"

She slumped her shoulders sheepishly. "I admit that I have been listening to yours and Master Washington's conversations as of late," she explained. "But only because I worry about you. You may be hundreds of years older than me, but you are still a child--A sweet innocence in this world protected by your parent. And once you leave that protection..." Betsy swallowed and closed her eyes. "You can never go back to it."

When she opened her eyes, they glinted with a pain and sadness that flashed an image in Alfred's mind. It only lasted for a split second, the image of another woman, and then it was gone, leaving him dizzy. He wobbled a little, blinking a few times to regain his senses. [1]

"A-Are you alright, Alfred?" she asked, suddenly alarmed. She reached out to steady him, but faltering and retracted her hands without touching him.

Alfred nodded, still slightly dazed. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Betsy again tugged at her sleeves, trying to pull them down to cover her wrists. "Please believe me when I say that you do not want to create a rift in your relationship with England over something like this. You will regret it. The time a parent spends with their child and the time a child spends with their parent is precious."

Alfred heard her voice crack and he slowly began to understand why she was telling him this. "Miss Betsy..." he began carefully, reaching for her hand. The moment they touched, she flinched away so quickly that it was like she had been burnt by a flame. His face slackened at her response and he made no attempt to touch her again.

"Miss Betsy," he began again, "Did you leave your parents a long time ago?" Alfred asked softly.

Betsy sat still for a few minutes, then wrapped her arms around herself and fell apart. 

"Yes," she said in a hushed tone, tears spilling from her eyes. "I should not have tried to escape. I should have realized that if I did succeed in running away, I might never see them again. But for some reason, I could not think of that..." Her fingers tightened around her shoulders. "I was angry at them for bringing me into a world of pain. The shackles were so tight and hard and I was so hungry. But in the end, I did not even find freedom. I was captured by slave merchants and resold and... they hurt me."

She covered her eyes with her hands, and as she did so, her sleeves slid down a little, revealing deep scars and gashes that had never healed properly. Alfred's eyes flew wide with horror at the sight, a shiver passing down his spine. "M-Miss Betsy..." he said, lip quivering. "Why...?"

She shook her head. "I will never understand why." Then she took in a deep breath to calm herself and looked Alfred in the eyes again. 

"Alfred, do you understand what I am trying to say? I do not want you to lose what you have. You must understand that being a parent is also very hard. You cannot always give your child what they deserve and you cannot always know what they are thinking or how mature they have become in their own mind. Even when you strive to do your best, you end up making mistakes. But you still love your child more than anything. There is no greater blessing."

Alfred took a moment to digest this.

 _England_ is _always nice to me... He gives me gifts and bakes me scones. He always promises to come back and..._ His heart grew warm. _He always smiles at me._

That smile.

It was like tangible joy.

And it was radiant.

Alfred looked up at Betsy, a new light shining in his eyes. "I understand, Miss Betsy. Thank you."

\-----

He hadn't wanted to leave without saying good-bye, but it had been important to get an early start. Especially in this weather.

The rain was pouring down, drenching Alfred as he clung to his horse's neck, and for the umpteenth time that day, he desperately wished he had his cloak to cover his soaked hair and freezing ears.

Before leaving he had left a letter in the parlor, giving his thanks and saying that he needed to return home. At the time it had seemed like a good idea, but now it felt somewhat rude.

 _I wonder if they've opened it yet..._ he thought, pressing his lips together. Martha would probably be the most upset with him for leaving without giving her a hug, but he did that every day he was there anyway.

As Davie galloped down the all too familiar dirt path that led to Boston Harbor, Alfred breathed a deep sigh of relief. Even more so when they actually reached the house. The sky was even darker than it usually was in the evening with the angry stratus clouds covering the stars from his view. As Alfred descended from his horse, he pressed his cheek to Davie's nose lovingly and gave the brown stallion a bunch of carrots.

"Thanks a lot, buddy," he said, scratching the horse behind the ears before heading inside the house.

To Alfred's disappointment, the house was empty. Not a single candle was lit and he fumbled through the dark to find a lamp. Once he lit a flame, he went to his room to change out of his sopping wet clothes and then climbed into bed.

He remembered when he had first started living in the house and the rabbit that he would always sleep with when Arthur left. Those days didn't last very long, but the little animal had been a good companion for the time Alfred had spent with it. It was always nice having someone else around during those lonely nights, and he found himself missing the furry creature's company.

Alfred sneezed and rubbed his nose, pulling the covers up and wrapping himself in them.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a door opening and footsteps pattering around in the parlor. He held his breath, half frightened and half hopeful. As the footsteps approached his room, he instinctively faked sleep, hoping that his slightly tensed forehead wouldn't give him away.

"Alfred?"

The golden-haired boy resisted the urge to open his eyes and embrace Arthur and tell him that he forgave him for everything. Instead, he remained still as Arthur reached down and held a hand out. Alfred could feel his proximity and wondered briefly why he was just standing there instead of moving or saying something.

Arthur seemed hesitant to touch him, as if he would break him if he did so, but he finally did reach out and touch his cheek tenderly. Then, seeing that nothing bad had happened, he pressed his forehead to Alfred's, unfazed by the boy's still-wet hair.

"Oh, Alfred, I missed you so much. I'm so sorry. I keep trying to fix things, but I just... can't." He sighed. Alfred could smell the scent of alcohol on his breath.

"I never meant to hit you, I swear it to the Lord. But I didn't want us to fight any more. I still don't want us to fight. You are all I have. My greatest treasure. And what an undeserving coward I am. I can't even work up the courage to tell you all this when you are actually awake." His eyes and nose began to sting.

"The king is angry with me, you know," he said, chuckling in a joyless way. "I might not be allowed to come back for a while the next time I leave. He believes I have grown too attached to you. But don't worry, I won't let them take you away from me."

Alfred could feel water dripping onto his cheeks, and his heart began to hurt at the thought of England crying.

Arthur kissed his forehead and then brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I love you, Alfred."

With that, he left the room. When the door clicked shut, Alfred finally opened his eyes and found that he could not suppress his tears.

"I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- George Washington loved and was very good at playing card games. He was particularly good at whist and loo. Whist was a popular card game similar to the game Spades, except that spades weren't always the suit. The last card dealt would be flipped over by the dealer and that would determine the suit.
> 
> \- Nathan Hale was said to be one of the most popular boys in Connecticut, if not the most popular boy in all of Connecticut by many because of his intelligence, athletic ability, looks, and general attitude. When he grew up, he was also a real ladies' man.
> 
> \- A hornbook was a piece of wood used by colonial children in schools. It had words printed on both sides of it and was covered by a thin sheet of cow horn. The children were taught to read so they could read the Bible. They also used the New England Primer to learn how to read.
> 
> \- There's a popular story about George Washington chopping down a cherry tree when he was a boy but it's most likely not true.
> 
> \- [1] Do you remember chapter 4? Add that into the flashbacks from there.
> 
> \- George Washington's opinions on slavery varied throughout his life, as did the accounts of how he treated his slaves. He was known to punish harshly and slaves tried to run away from Mount Vernon more than a few times. However, it is still said that he treated his slaves better than many other plantation owners did.
> 
> French Translations:
> 
> \- Mon fils: my son
> 
> \- Je suis désolé: I'm sorry
> 
> \- Mon cheri: my darling/my dear
> 
> \- Mon propre pays: my own country
> 
> \- Je te aime (aussi): I love you (too)
> 
> \- Mon petit chou: Translates literally to "my little cabbage" but has been a French term of endearment for a long time. It's unclear where this phrase came from but some people think it may refer to a cabbage looking kind of like a green rose.


	7. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big apology to everybody for not updating for an entire month! I was very busy and somewhere during winter break I became pre-occupied with other things. Thank you for your patience. I'll try to update again very soon.

_May 1766_

_Dear Père,_

_England and I are doing better now. He made me a violin and he's teaching me how to play it! It doesn't sound very good when I play though. I can't hold the violin up without wobbling around a great deal-- Not to mention, holding it up makes my arms and jaw sore. England says that I will eventually become strong enough to play it for hours at a time, but I'm not sure I'll ever be as good as him or you. You both play so easily and beautifully!_

_I remember when the two of you used to play it together for Mattie and I. I hope that you can come give me a lesson sometime soon!_

_Speaking of Mattie, England said he had some business to attend to up in the north so he brought me with him to see Mattie. He said he thought it would be nice for us all to see each other after so long, so please address the letters to here for the next few months! And don't worry, I'll be sure to tell Mattie how much you miss him!_

_Je te aime, Père! Please come visit soon!_

_Love,_

_Alfred_

\-----

"Alfred, please. I'm not used to this..."

Matthew pushed the half-finished plate of food towards his brother, his purple eyes pleading.

Alfred glanced back at Arthur, who was humming away happily as he cleaned the wooden stove, and then turned to Matthew with a guilty look.

"Mattie, he'll see," Alfred whispered. He stared at his own plate and attempted to keep a straight face. The food, unfortunately, neither looked nor smelled appealing. His hands shook slightly as he picked his fork back up. "B-Besides, i-it's not that bad..."

"I can see your eyebrows twitching."

 _Blame..._ So they were. Traitorous things. Alfred bit the inside of his cheek, tensing his eyebrows until they finally came back under his control. His eyes twinkled at his success as he puffed his chest up a bit, announcing happily, "They are not."

Matthew gave him a crooked smile, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head in a playful manner. "Come on, Alfred. You don't want to eat it either. Père's cooking is the best," he said proudly, closing his eyes with a touch of snobbiness.

 _That's true..._ Alfred frowned pitifully. "But I..." He pursed his lips. "I like England's cooking."

"Oh really?"

"Really."

"Prove it," Matthew taunted, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Alfred turned back in his chair to look at Arthur, who continued to hum to himself as he cleaned obliviously, matching the pace of his song to the strokes of his hand. He then turned back to the food, eyeing it hesitantly as he grabbed subconsciously at the cross hanging from his neck.

 _In the name of Jesus Christ, I pray, Dear Lord, see me through these hard times._ He closed his eyes. _In these troubling times, I am filled with unspeakable fears. I reach out my hand to you now, And ask you to walk beside me. I cannot carry all my burdens, But I know you can, and will. Please-_

"Are you _praying?_ " Matthew asked suddenly, interrupting him.

Alfred glanced up at his brother, his skin quickly becoming too warm to be comfortable. He let go of his cross, instead fumbling with his fingers beneath the table. "M-Maybe."

"Do you do this all the time?" Matthew asked, leaning forward.

"No! Of course not!" he defended immediately in a mix between a shout and a whisper, muttering with a glance to the side, "Only because I have to finish yours too..."

"Well hurry up! He won't clean the stove forever!" Matthew urged, nudging him and glancing back nervously.

"All right, all right..."

With an audible gulp, Alfred raised his plate to his mouth and slid all of the remaining food in at once, then did the same with Matthew's.

Matthew clutched Alfred's shoulder. "Thank you, Alfred."

“Yeah, you're welcome," Alfred said monotonously, passing one of the plates back to him.

Almost on cue, Arthur announced the completion of his task with a pleased _'hm'_ and slid into a chair across from the boys.

A nervous bubble began to build in Alfred's chest as Arthur scanned them over silently, and shrunk back down in relief as he smiled and simply said, "Ah, so you've finished already! How was it?"

Matthew instantly looked to Alfred to answer, who glared at him internally before putting on a smile against his twisting stomach's wishes. "It was very tasty. Thank you, England."

Arthur's cheeks turned rosy with delight. "I'm glad you thought so!" he said, pulling his pocket watch out to check the time. He looked back at the boys with a small _'tsk'_ of disappointment. "I'm afraid I have some business to attend to. Will you boys be all right without me for a couple hours?" he asked, standing up to get his jacket.

"We'll be fine!" they answered in unison, waving to him.

Arthur set his hat on his head and smiled warmly at them. "Very good. Make sure to study while I'm gone. Alfred, take care of the house, will you?"

Alfred nodded, then suddenly stood up as Arthur turned to leave. "Wait, England!"

"Hm?" Arthur looked over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows.

"Could you please check to see if there's any mail for me on your way back?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Alfred realized he had said something wrong. Arthur turned around fully to stare at him, puzzled, and Matthew silently followed suit. Arthur's eyebrows furrowed slightly as he opened his mouth, trying to grasp the words he needed to phrase his question exactly how he wanted to ask it, but gave up and simply said, "Who would _you_ be getting a letter from?"

Alfred's stomach lurched uncomfortably, and he quickly realized that his burnt lunch might be coming up to say hello. "I..." He struggled, trying to whip up a believable lie. "I, uh, my friend is... visiting his relatives in Europe, and I asked him to let me know how his trip was! He said he would send me a letter," he said, hoping he wasn't as obvious as he felt.

Arthur took this in, digesting the words slowly as he swung his pocket watch back and forth absently. "And-"

"Yes?" Alfred responded hastily, mentally punching himself in the throat.

Arthur's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "And," he repeated, "What might this _friend's_ name be?"

"He's a boy," Alfred said, trying to buy himself some time. _Think of a name... Any name... Come on..._

"His name is Nathan," he blurted out. _Lie, lie, lie..._

Arthur stared at him for another good minute, then nodded to himself and shrugged. "All right. I'll be on my way then," he said, opening the door. It shut with a small creak and Alfred let out the breath he didn't know he was holding in. _Thank God,_ he thought, getting up from his chair.

"Well, time to study," he said hurriedly, avoiding his brother's eyes. "It's your turn to get the books, right Mattie?"

Matthew gave him a suspicious look, but nonetheless, went to the study room to get the hornbooks and the slates.

\-----

Alfred felt his propped up elbow beginning to collapse under the weight of his head as he continued to write, half-asleep.

"Hey, Alfred?"

The golden-haired boy looked up from his slate at the speed of a snail, his half-lidded eyes barely registering the sight of his brother. "What... is it... Mattie?" he asked, falling asleep for seconds between the words.

"What did you get for number nine?"

Alfred glanced down at his slate, then back up at his brother in disbelief. "Twenty-two. Did you really not get that one?"

Matthew's face fell a little, and Alfred again felt like punching himself in the throat. "Well, I... No..."

Alfred sat up straight, trying to see how many Matthew had finished and found himself looking at only four problems completed correctly.

Matthew covered the slate with his arm, dipping his head in shame. "I... I don't know how to do these."

"Why not?" Alfred asked, taken aback. He had had no trouble finishing any of the subjects, while Matthew had been skipping around all day, moving onto math when Alfred did even though he hadn't even come close to finishing the Greek questions.

"It's because England's never here," Matthew said, pushing his slate back and setting his chalk down with a sigh. "This is the first time he's come to visit me since last year, and it's the longest he's ever visited."

Alfred stared at him with building confusion. "What? But why? He always tells me has to leave to take care of business."

"Back at the motherland, maybe, but not here," Matthew huffed. "If he's not at his home and he's not with me, he's always with you. He sends me letters every couple of months to ask me how I'm doing or sends me food, but I hardly ever see him."

Alfred blinked and looked down. "I'm sorry, Mattie. Maybe there's more business where I-"

"No." Matthew shook his head. "That's not it."

Alfred's face scrunched up in thought. "Well, maybe-"

"No, Alfred," Matthew said more firmly this time. "I know the reason why. I don't have to think about it."

Alfred stared at his brother, now more confused than he had been before. "What's the reason then?"

Matthew looked up at Alfred, his purple eyes growing irritated. "Alfred, do I have to spell it out for you?! It's-"

A sudden crack of thunder silenced him.

Alfred switched his attention to the window and for the first time that night noticed the rain pouring down outside. The wind pressed against the house, howling and whistling as it seeped in through the small spaces between the windows and the walls.

"I hope the candles don't burn out," he said, watching them flicker as the wind tried and only seconds later, succeeded in putting all but one of them out.

"Great job, Alfred," Matthew muttered under his breath.

"Hey, don't blame it on me! I'll just go find the matches," Alfred said, standing up with the remaining candle.

He wandered out of the room and into the kitchen where Arthur usually kept the matches near the stove in case it didn't work. As Alfred searched the drawers, the house door creaked open, causing him to squeak and instinctively hide out of sight of the door.

"Alfred? Matthew?" Arthur's familiar call sounded, bringing him out of his hiding place.

"Ah, England! You're finally home!" Alfred rushed over to embrace him. Arthur stumbled a little, water dripping off the strands of his blonde hair as he coughed. Alfred looked up then, his eyebrows furrowing at the sight of Arthur's flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. "England, are you all right?" he asked slowly, backing away.

Arthur nodded, but coughed again, more violently this time. "I-I'm fine," he said, walking towards the bedroom. "I did get your letter, Alfred," he said, sitting down on the bed and searching his jacket pockets. He found the envelope and handed it to Alfred with shaky hands.

"England, I think you need to rest," Alfred said, his face tensed with concern and uncertainty.

Arthur gave Alfred a weak smile, smoothing his hair gently. "I'm all right, Alfred. I... just..." He trailed off, collapsing onto his side.

"England? England!" Alfred shook him. "ENGLAND!" He glanced around wildly, his eyes beginning to sting with tears. "Mattie?! MATTIE! WHERE ARE YOU?!" he shouted.

Matthew rushed into the room. "Alfred, what's- Oh God..." He covered his mouth with his hands.

Alfred looked at him desperately. "Mattie! What are we supposed to do?!"

"Alfred, calm down! I... I don't know. Go get some water and a handkerchief. It looks like we have to cool him down."

Alfred nodded and rushed into the kitchen to grab the bucket of well water near the sink. Drops of it splashed on the ground as he carried it back hurriedly.

"Just set it down right here," Matthew instructed.

Alfred pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Matthew, who took it with a small nod of gratitude.

"Alfred?"

"Yeah?" he responded shakily.

Matthew turned to look at him, his eyes sympathetic as he put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Why don't you go rest? I'll take care of England right now."

Alfred shook his head quickly, a few tears streaming down his cheeks. "No! I want to stay right here!"

"Alfred, listen to me," Matthew put both his hands on his shoulders now. "We can take turns watching him, but you have to go rest right now. I know you're tired. You can't take care of him if you're tired. Do you understand?"

Alfred sniffed and nodded.

"Good. Then go on. I'll call for you sometime later."

Alfred left the room slowly, stopping at the door to watch Matthew dip the handkerchief in the water and use it to wipe Arthur's face. Then he walked to the other bedroom and laid down on the bed he shared with his brother.

He laid his hand across his face and closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing heartbeat and stinging eyes.

_England will be okay. He's just tired, after all. He'll be fine._

He sighed, unable to believe himself, and threw his arm back down on the bed. The sound of paper crinkling caught his attention and he realized that the letter was in his shirt pocket, unopened. Alfred carefully took it out and opened it, holding the letter out above his face.

_Dear Alfred,_

_So you have gone to see Mathieu? Please let me know how he is doing. I'm afraid the last time I saw him was not pleasant, but hopefully he is happier now that it has been some time._

_I am very happy that things are going well for you and England. He is right about the violin, you know. I was much like you when I began playing, but you will get better! The soreness does go away and it will be much easier to play when it is gone._

_But about England... I should warn you, you may not be able to see him for a long time the next time he leaves. I have heard that his king is not happy with him because he has not been doing as he was asked. Alfred, I am sure you know more about the situation in your land than I do so it may be up to you to fix the problems there. I believe England may be afraid of doing so for fear of hurting you._

_As I have said before, please tell me if you need anything and I will do my best to help you. Je te aime, Alfred! Until next time!_

_~ Francis Bonnefoy_

Alfred folded the letter and set it down on the nightstand beside him. His eyes narrowed as he pondered Francis's words.

 _What does he mean "he has not been doing as he was asked" and "the king is not happy"? There have been some riots, but..._ His thoughts trailed off as sleep overtook him.

It seemed only seconds later that he was being shaken awake by an exhausted Matthew.

"Come on, Alfred, wake up! It's been _hours_!"

Alfred opened his eyes groggily, looking up into his brother's round violet eyes.

"All right, I'm up. How is England?" Alfred asked, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair.

"He certainly looks better. He woke up sometime ago, asking for you," Matthew said, glancing to the side.

"Hey Mattie, what's wrong?" Alfred asked, noticing the frown on his face.

Matthew sighed. "You really don't see it, do you?"

Alfred blinked. "See what?"

"The reason England always comes to visit you more than me, the reason he left _you_ in charge when he had to step out earlier today, the reason he's asking for you now-- He loves you, Alfred. More than anything or anyone else. More than me. More than himself, most likely."

Alfred's heart hammered in his chest. "I know that England loves me, but," he let out a puff of a laugh, "surely he can't love me that much. You're exaggerating it, Mattie. He loves us both the same!" He looked up into his brother's eyes and the small grin that had been on his face vanished completely.

Matthew was staring at him, his eyes searching and full of too many emotions for Alfred to pick out. Then he shook his head. "Alfred, I'm telling you this for your own good. I found a letter in England's pocket before he woke up. It was from the king.

"It said that England had to start controlling you better, or else he wouldn't be allowed to see you anymore. You have to start picking up some responsibility of your people, or else you're going to end up like me. You're going to lose him." Matthew closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "At least you can change it. I couldn't do anything about what happened," he said softly.

Alfred's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What do you mean? What happened to you?"

Matthew opened his eyes and gave Alfred a small, sad smile. "It's nothing. Just go see England. He's waiting for you."

Alfred stood up and walked to the door, then glanced back. "Thanks, Mattie. For everything."

“No problem."

With that, he left the room and entered Arthur's, knocking on the already open door to signal his entrance. Arthur opened his eyes and focused on Alfred, his face seemingly lighting up at the sight of him. Alfred smiled at him and sat down on the stool next to the bed.

"Hello, England," he said softly, gazing into his caretaker's bright green eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm much better now. I just needed a bit of rest. I've been so busy lately," he said with a far off look. Then he smiled at Alfred. "But you don't have to worry about any of that. I'm sorry for scaring you."

Alfred looked down, his hair shadowing his eyes from view. "England... Is it true? Will you not be able to see me anymore?"

Surprise flashed across Arthur's face. "Where did you hear that?"

"Is it true, England?" Alfred repeated, ignoring his question. He raised his head to look at Arthur again, and this time his eyes were filled with tears.

Arthur reached out to wipe the boy's face with his hands. "It's okay, Alfred. I promise you, I'll do everything I can to fix this, all right?"

 _"But don't worry, I won't let them take you away from me."_ The words echoed in Alfred's mind and he let his tears fall. "Okay, England," he said with a nod, taking hold of Arthur's hand. "Okay. Please rest."

Arthur smiled. "I will." He squeezed Alfred's hand, then let it go as he drifted back into sleep.

Alfred wiped his eyes with his sleeve and left to go back to the other bedroom. "Hey, Mattie?"

Matthew was sitting on the bed and as he turned around, his face red and flooding tears, Alfred took a step back. He opened his mouth, about to ask what was wrong, when Matthew stated it outright for him.

"Alfred, how could you? I can't believe you!" Matthew said, standing up and walking toward his brother. Alfred's eyes widened as he saw the paper in Matthew's hands and winced, realizing he'd left it in the room.

"Mattie, it's not what you thi-"

"IT'S NOT WHAT I THINK?!" Matthew shouted at the top of his lungs. Alfred shut his mouth with an audible _'click'_ , dumbfounded. He'd never heard his brother scream before. _Never_. "Père is _my_ father! You already have England! Why do you take _everyone_?! Why does everybody like you best?!" Matthew sobbed, covering his eyes with his free hand.

Alfred felt his own tears returning. "That's not fair, Mattie,” he said quietly. "I love him too. You can't act like I'm not allowed to talk to him too."

"I DIDN'T SAY THAT!" Matthew hiccuped, trying desperately to control himself. "But... But why didn't you tell me you were sending him letters? Why didn't you ask me if I might want to send one too? Did you think I would tell England?" His voice grew softer. "And why... Why didn't Père send me letters too? Why only you?"

Alfred frowned and looked away. "I don't know. I think it's because he thinks you're mad at him. I don't know what happened between you and Père and England, but I think he feels guilty about it and he always asks me to give you extra love from him. To be honest, I sent him one first. I didn't want anyone to know. But..." Alfred exhaled. "I was wrong for not telling you. I'm sorry."

Matthew looked at him with clenched teeth, tears still dripping down his face, and Alfred hugged him.

"How could he think.... How could he think I was mad at him? And how could he expect me to be happy... when I'm all alone?" Matthew's voice trembled, muffled by Alfred's shoulder.

"I don't know, Mattie. I really don't know. But you’re not alone. I promise you that."

He held him tight until his sobs faded into nothingness and he became too tired to do anything but finally go to sleep. Throughout the night and into the morning, Alfred lay next to him, sleepless, mulling the same words over in his head repeatedly.

_"About England, I should warn you, you may not be able to see him for a long time the next time he leaves."_

_"It said that England had to start controlling you better, or else he wouldn't be allowed to see you anymore."_

_"It's okay, Alfred. I promise you, I'll do everything I can to fix this, all right?"_

_"He loves you, Alfred. More than anything or anyone else."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The dates may be a bit confusing at this point because of the letters, so to clear things up, “May 1766” is when Alfred mailed the letter out. That means that it took a few months to reach France and a few more months to have Alfred receive a letter back. That means the time the chapter’s actually taking place is probably around October or November of 1766. I hope that helps!
> 
> \- "Blame" was a euphemism for "damn" in the late 1700s and throughout the 1800s. It was especially used in New England.
> 
> \- I sincerely hope nobody was offended by the prayer. It wasn't meant to be a joke, but rereading it, it does come off that way. I just wanted to establish that Alfred does have a deeply rooted faith and it will come up again later. Perhaps more seriously then.
> 
> \- Slates and chalk were common tools in colonial times for practicing math and other subjects in school. They were the best thing to choose because they could be erased and reused while paper was seen as something that would run out quickly. Colonial boys usually learned math, Greek, Latin, science, geography, and a few other subjects through a tutor and books. Textbooks were scarce, but the rich would sometimes have them.


	8. Stretching Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: The next chapter of Farewells May Come One Day will not be posted until I finish Deganawida, which is only three chapters away from completion. The final events of Deganawida will be important to the next chapter of this story, so if you haven't read it yet I would recommend that you do!

_August 1769_

The rain splattering against the windows would not cease.

Alfred leaned closer to the window and stared out at the storm, then shifted his focus to the people crowded in the streets. Even from inside the house he could hear their cries for justice, hear their shouts as they raised their fists in the air.

Slightly shaken, he backed away from the window and winced at the sound of crinkling beneath his feet. Alfred glanced down and picked the newspaper up shakily, caught again on the same words as always.

_"England dared to tax..."_

_"The Sons of Liberty..."_

_"Therefore, voted, that this town will by all prudent ways and means, encourage the use and consumption of glass and paper, made in any of the British American colonies; and more especially in this province."_

Unable to look at it any longer, he crumpled it up and tossed it to the side.

"It's not true," he mumbled to himself, sitting down heavily at his desk and staring at his half-written letter.

But of course, it was.

Alfred picked up his quill and with some effort began to scrawl the last of his words onto the paper. At the last stroke of ink, he held the papers up and read them to himself one last time.

_"Dear Père,_

_I am very sorry I haven't written in a long time. After the last letter I sent, I became anxious that England would find out about our conversations and I did not want him to become angry with me. Mattie did just that. He found one of your letters and would hardly speak to me for the rest of our visit. I apologized to him, but he doesn't want to speak to me about anything. I am afraid he may never do so again._

_England and I returned home only last week. Him and I are on complicated terms now, though perhaps only in my mind. He is most definitely not unkind, but he has made some rather vexing new rules. He will not allow me to leave the house without permission, and rarely gives it to me when I ask. However, every once in a while when he is away to take care of business I do venture out. That is how I found out about the new taxes that were passed. The people are very angry. I'm not sure how to feel quite yet._

_When we visited Mattie, England became very ill and Mattie found a letter in his pocket from the king. It was similar to what you said. England may not be able to see me anymore if he is not stricter with me. If that is the case, I don't want to push him away. I had never argued with him before that day that he returned home all battered and bruised. He left to go back to the motherland a couple days ago. I hope it was not because of me._

_I don't know what to do, Père. I'm very confused. What do you think I should do? I will be awaiting your reply._

_Love,_

_Alfred"_

Alfred folded the papers carefully and stuck them in an envelope. He looked to the window, seeing the rain had finally lessened to a reasonable amount.

 _I should take care of things while I can,_ he thought, his eyes wandering to the open pocket watch Arthur had given him as he slipped his jacket on. He couldn't help but smile at it and picked it up.

_"Before I go, Alfred, I have something for you," Arthur said, kneeling down to get on eye level with the boy._

_Alfred looked up from his feet and saw Arthur pick a gold pocket watch out of his jacket. It gleamed in the summer sun shining down on the docks, reflecting in Alfred's round blue eyes as the item fell into his open hands. He admired the embellishment on the front of it depicting a Eurasian wren, then clicked the watch open._

_"But England," he said slowly, tearing his eyes away from it to look up at his caretaker. "Why?"_

_Arthur smiled, ruffling Alfred's hair. "Today marks 105 years, you know."_

_"Since... Since we met?"_

_A nod. "That's right. I wanted to give you this some time ago, but I have been so busy. I'm sorry."_

_Alfred shook his head. "I'm sorry, England. I don't have anything for you. I never do..." He looked down._

_Arthur's expression was soft. "Oh Alfred, trust me, you have given me plenty."_

_"What do you mean?" Alfred's question was lost in the ship horn's blare, which Arthur shifted his attention to._

_"I have to leave now."_

_He had only half-turned before Alfred latched onto his waist. "You will come back soon, won't you, England?"_

_Arthur leaned down and embraced him tightly. "I will try my best, Alfred. Farewell."_

Alfred clicked the watch shut, remembering what his brother had told him.

_"He loves you, Alfred. More than anything or anyone else."_

_Maybe he had a point after all,_ he thought, stuffing his letter and watch into his pocket as he headed out the door.

\-----

Seeing the rather sorry looking printing office was the first jarring thing that occurred that day. Alfred stared in through its windows, a deep frown creasing his features.

_Where is Benjamin?_

He pressed his nose and hands against the window to see if there were any signs of someone being inside the building recently. All he found himself squinting at, however, was darkness and dust ball upon dust ball. The door was locked as well, and the usual scent of ink on paper that Alfred was so used to catching a whiff of was nowhere to be found.

Next came the second jarring thing to occur that day.

"Are you... Alfred?"

Alfred jumped at the sound of his name, spinning around to face his caller, and instead being met with...

_A wall?_

He tilted his head up slowly, and twitched as he looked directly into familiar pale blue eyes.

"N-Nathan?" Alfred stuttered, shocked.

Nathan lit up. "It is you! My, you haven't changed a bit! Literally!" he remarked, laughing and putting a hand on Alfred's head.

Alfred's face contorted. "I can't believe you just made that joke." He shrunk out from under his friend's hand and looked to the side, his face growing hot with embarrassment.

"That's all you have to say to someone you haven't seen in such a long time?" Nathan smiled. "You truly are Alfred. Though I remember you promising to visit me," he said, tilting his head.

Alfred's eyes went wide. "Oh... Right. Well, I've been away. But it hasn't been _that_ long."

"Perhaps not for you, but three years is a long time for, well, normal people. But in any case," he straightened up a little, "How have you been, chap?"

Alfred tried to recollect the events that had taken place since he had last seen his friend. "I've been..." He searched for the right word, but couldn't reach it. "Quite a bit has happened."

"I can imagine, but you can start at-" Nathan paused. "Alfred, is something wrong? You have been looking at me rather strangely."

Alfred stiffened. "Not particularly. It's just..." His mouth twisted uncomfortably. "Y-You're too tall now," he admitted, glancing downward. When he looked back up, Nathan was grinning, and Alfred snapped at him in a squeaky voice, "Don't be so proud of yourself! It's not my fault I can't grow!"

Nathan covered his mouth to keep from laughing. "Who's the squeeze crab now?"

Alfred wanted to object, but he could feel his ears turning a brighter shade of red. “But-" He stopped suddenly, the radiating warmth of his cheeks toning down. "Wait a minute." He pointed a finger at the brunette. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?"

"In New Haven," he clarified.

Nathan's eyes brightened up. "Ah, I forgot you didn't know. I live here now. My brother and I are attending Yale."

Alfred's eyebrows wrinkled confusedly. "What is _Yale?_ Is that a food?" he asked thoughtfully, putting a hand on his chin.

Nathan wilted ever so slightly. "No, it is not a food. Is that all you think about?"

"Hey, it's important," Alfred whined. Nathan ignored his comment.

"It's a college here. I'm studying to become a teacher, he said proudly.

Alfred looked at him with interest. "A teacher?"

"Yes, I'm studying astronomy, mathematics, and literature. But enough about me. What have you been doing all this time?"

"I visited my friend that I told you about," he said, thinking. "I didn't spend much time with Mr. Washington though since Betsy thought it best I go- Oops." Alfred covered his mouth. "I wasn't supposed to tell anyone about that."

Nathan's eyes flew wide, not catching the last of what Alfred said. "'Mr. Washington'? You mean, Mr. George Washington?"

"Yes, Mr. Washington. Do you know him?” Alfred asked, perking up at the thought of his friends knowing each other.

Nathan spluttered. "How could I _not know_ about the leader of the Virginia boycott?!"

"The what? Well anyway, after that England and I went to see my brother,” Alfred continued.

"How was that? You hadn't seen him in a long time, correct?"

Alfred frowned and he began to fidget with his fingers, rocking on his heels. "We... had a fight," he said quietly.

Nathan was taken aback. "A fight? About what?"

"It was about Père.” He explained everything, from when he asked Arthur to retrieve the letter for him to when Matthew discovered his secret and began shouting.

"Oh." Nathan scratched the back of his neck. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Alfred lied. "We came back to Boston a few days ago. Then England left."

Nathan snorted and Alfred's eyebrows suddenly furrowed as the brunette said, "I'm sure he has very important business."

"What do you mean by that?" Alfred asked, though he had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"I only mean that he must be busy passing taxes."

His stomach lurched. "It's not England's fault that the king is passing new taxes," he said defensively. "He would never do that."

Nathan suddenly grew serious. "Alfred, you must be joking. If anyone would do that, it would be him."

"What?"

"He's notorious for bad behavior. If you have studied any history at all you know that." Alfred's eyebrows relaxed as he faltered, his eyes widening as the rest of his face slackened, and Nathan added, "You haven't studied much history, have you?"

"Th-That's not true. He told me about Spain and-and Italy and Austria..." Alfred stammered desperately.

"But not about himself?"

Alfred looked up to meet his companion’s eyes, and his own eyes suddenly darkened. "You're wrong, Nathan. England is a good person, and..." Alfred's eyebrows sunk lower on his face. "And if you're accusing him, then you are not."

Nathan's eyes widened. “This isn’t about me, Alfred! Taxing people for a war that _he_ started in the first place is ridiculous! He’s a thief and a murderer, Alfred, and you don’t even know it!"

“No, he’s not!” Alfred shouted back, earning the attention of a few passers-by and protestors on the street. The two boys both turned around to look at the people, then stared back at each other.

"Alfred, he- You know what? Forget it. It's no use trying to describe color to a blind man. Or more like a _boy_."

Alfred's face flushed with anger. "And what would you know?! You're not much more than a boy either! Don't act like you know so much about the world when you don't!"

"I still know more about the world than you do," Nathan said calmly. "Have you ever thought that perhaps your father has shielded you from more than you realize? You need to start thinking, Alfred."

Hot tears all at once began to run down Alfred's cheeks. "You've changed, Nathan."

"Yes, Alfred. That's what happens when people begin to mature." Nathan didn't meet his eyes. "I should get going now."

"Fine." Alfred fixed his jacket and went to his horse. "Then I will too."

With that, he rode away down the path without looking back.

\-----

The next few days were ones of utter loneliness in which Alfred could only sit and think, watching the hands of his pocket watch tick and tick and tick until he finally wore himself out from all that thinking and retired to bed.

In the last days of summer, he just sat with Davie, repeating stories England had told him as he fed the stallion carrots.

“Did I tell you the one about the family who couldn’t blow out the candle? It goes like this,” he said, beginning the story. Sometimes Davie fell asleep in the middle, but that was all right, because Alfred did it all the time too. Arthur would usually end up finishing the story from the night before on the next day because Alfred fell asleep right in the middle. He still wanted to know what happened though, so he assumed the horse felt the same.

Alfred had always liked the company of animals when he was lonely. They listened quietly and seemed to understand what he was feeling even if they didn’t know what he was saying. Besides, they were warm and soft, and full of a certain kind of life that many people didn’t seem to have, and if they did, they didn’t show it.

As the summer turned to autumn, he began to realize how cold the horse must get standing outside in the winter and promised him that someday they would move down to the south where Davie could have a large green pasture like he used to and bathe in the sunlight all the time.

“Maybe Virginia,” he said. “Then we can live near Mr. and Mrs. Washington. I’ll need your help to convince England though."

Davie neighed in what seemed to be agreement, pressing his muzzle to Alfred’s face and tickling him with his breath. Alfred laughed and hugged the horse’s neck. 

Even more time passed before it was finally too cold to sit outside all day anymore, and Alfred decided to pick up studying again. He went to Arthur's study to pick out a few books to read. It was then that he found a few old papers of Arthur's that were tucked away in one of his desk drawers, just below the supply of extra quills and ink. Curious, he slipped the papers out and held them carefully so as not to let them crack.

They were old and faded, browning at the edges and crackling with every bend. Alfred squinted, trying to make out the words at the top of one.

_"Brethren_

_Our last meeting ended with so happy an agreement & such firm assurances and hearty resolutions on both sides that if they are faithfully observed we shall always meet with joyful countenances._

_You then promised me solemnly not to have any correspondence with the French, but to depend entirely on the English & cleave close to them."_

Alfred tried to read the words that followed those, but found them to be faded too far beyond comprehension and skipped down a few paragraphs.

_"I begin therefore by demanding of you a solemn assurance that you will continue firm to what you then engaged, that you will inform me truly of your principal late transactions & designs & advice with me upon them so that I may be convinced that you have an entire confidence in me & observe an exact sincerity in your whole conduct towards me which will be the strongest ties of a lasting friendship between us — Give a belt of wampum."_

Alfred stared at the last word for a while. _Wampum._ It seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Ignoring it, he looked at the last line again.

_"... the strongest ties of a lasting friendship."_

He felt a pang in his chest as he thought immediately of Nathan and their fight. It seemed as though that was all he had been doing lately: Fighting with Arthur, fighting with Matthew, fighting with Nathan.

 _Perhaps it's my fault,_ he conceded with a sigh, realizing the only constant here was his own self.

Placing the papers back where they belonged, he took out fresh paper and took it back to his room, where he began to write out an apology to the friend he didn't want to lose.

He only had to wait a couple weeks for a reply, though it felt like much longer than that. Although it would have been easier to simply go see Nathan himself, he worried about sneaking out too often. It felt like somehow Arthur would know, with some instinct, and come back only to scold Alfred for disobeying him.

As Alfred tore the letter open impatiently, he felt his stomach grow sick at the thought that his friend may reject his apology, as heartfelt as it was.

That, however, was not the case.

_"Dear Alfred,_

_You did not have to apologize. Insulting your father was a large step out of line, as was insulting you, and I am very sorry for it. I should not have brought the taxes up at all._

_It has been a long time since we talked properly, but I'm afraid I won't have much time to spend with you. My schooling will be keeping me busy. Nevertheless, I promise that I will come see you when I do get the chance._

_Good luck with your endeavors, my friend, whatever they may be. God be with you._

_Sincerely,_

_Nathan Hale"_

It was short, but it was enough. Alfred let out a breath of relief and folded the letter up, setting it down on his desk. Resting his head in his hands, he looked to his gold watch, following its _tick, tick, tick._

He hoped that when Nathan did come it would be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The lines from the newspaper in the story are from a real 1767 Boston newspaper.
> 
> \- The 105 years since Arthur and Alfred met is not in reference to when English settlement began in America, but rather the time I believe them to have met. If it was in reference to the beginning of English settlement in America, it would be more in the range of 150 years.
> 
> \- Although it seems odd for Alfred to wear a jacket in summer, colonial men would wear unlined coats and thin waistcoats in the summer months.
> 
> \- If you remember from chapters 1 and 2, Benjamin Franklin ran _The Connecticut Gazette_. In this chapter, he's absent because his newspaper ceased printing in 1768. He then moved to England for a few years where he would begin a political career before returning to the colonies upon hearing about the American Revolution.
> 
> \- Nathan Hale attended Yale University with his elder brother between 1768 and 1773. It was the only college in Connecticut at the time. In his second year at the university, he joined a secret literary fraternity, Linonia, which he was very involved in up until his graduation. He participated in many debates, plays, parties, and speech-making. At the age of 18, he graduated with first honors.
> 
> \- The taxes discussed in this chapter are the Townshend Acts, a series of acts beginning in 1767. These acts placed duties on items imported by the colonists including glass, lead, paints, paper and tea. The Townshend Acts are also the point where serious colonial resistance began.
> 
> \- George Washington began taking a leading role in colonial resistance in 1767 and in 1769, he introduced a proposal, drafted by his friend George Mason, calling for Virginia to boycott English goods until the Acts were repealed.
> 
> \- The story about the family that couldn’t blow out a candle is a humorous colonial folktale about a family with mouths in shapes that made it hard to blow out their candle lamps. Eventually, the eldest son who had just returned from college and has a normal mouth blows out the candle and the father of the family says, “This is why you children need to go to college."
> 
> \- The paper that Alfred reads at the end of this chapter is taken from The Great Treaty of 1722, a treaty between the English settlers and the American Indian tribes of New York, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. The quotations came from treatiesportal.


End file.
